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SHALL WE RISE?

act one.

(chapter twenty, where is my mind?)

the presidential mansion, 2305

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"SMILE, PLEASE, VALENCIA!" DELPHINE snapped as she pulled Valencia into the corner of the room, her long nails digging into her bicep as she did. "After all, this party is for you."

Valencia Barlowe's Victory Tour was coming to an end. After weeks of visiting districts and mourning over the dead tributes, the last task Valencia had to do was visit President Snow's mansion where a party was currently being held. 

Valencia had been to many parties and banquets during her Tour, but nothing was like what this was. The forty-foot ceiling was transformed into the night sky, stars twinkling down onto the party goers. Musicians floated on fluffy clouds as they stroked the instruments. Dining tables had disappeared and now, stuffed sofas and chairs littered the space. Some were near the fireplace where the flames were crackling or near the pond where odd looking fish swam. A large tiled area in the center of the room acted as a dance floor, swarms of elegantly dressed Capitol people moving their hips and arms to the upbeat music played by the band.

But Valencia was not the party type. Whilst all of this was amazing and truly a sight, she did not enjoy it. Everyone's eyes were on her. Some nodded and smiled at her whilst some sick old men looked her up and down with a smirk. Valencia tried to mingle, but Capitol people were too obnoxious for her taste. And so, that was why Delphine dragged her to the corner of the room, a massive frown on her face.

"I am smiling." Valencia scoffed, shaking her head before she put on a fake smile. "See?"

"Don't be cheeky with me, young lady," Delphine warned her, pointing a long, manicured nail at her. "You need to smile. Everyone who's anyone is here and they want to see a young, joyful, happy woman such as yourself. Not some miserable, grouchy teenager!"

"Oh, I'm sorry." Valencia gritted her teeth. "Is my behaviour bringing the mood down? If so, I'll gladly change—"

"Keep this behaviour up and no dessert for you! I expect to see you smile, Valencia!"

Delphine trotted off in a huff, leaving Valencia behind in the corner. She straightened her silk dress as she took a deep sigh, surveying the area. Delphine was off with some of her escort friends. Commie was talking drunkly to some Victor that Valencia realised was from Twelve. Ezra was muttering with some other stylists whilst the pastel trio engorged themselves with the food. Antares was nowhere to be seen. The two hadn't spoken since the train and that was a good six months ago. Her brother's absence left a hole in Valencia's heart. But then she would remember what happened and that hole would be filled up. Wouldn't it just have been easier to hinder Silas? She knew he couldn't really talk to her, but he didn't have to choose the late towering boy over her. It would have been easier. But Antares chose to save Silas in the arena. That was something that wouldn't leave Valencia's head. Her brother chose some random boy over her.

Her mouth instantly watered as she looked over to the banquet tables that held numerous dishes and meals. Every single food that Valencia knew was there, even some she didn't know. Roasted cows and pigs were turning on spits. Fruits and nuts decorated the tables. Bowls of soup were laid everywhere. There was some platters filled with cheeses, breads, and little sweets that was packed with sugar. Waterfalls of wine and spirits sprouted everywhere. The sight made Valencia's fingers twitch as she began to wonder over to the food. She was starving. 

But when people noticed her reenter the party, they all rushed to her. People begged to take pictures with her. Names were given and retrieved. Random faces popped up. Kisses brushed onto cheeks as they said their goodbyes. Valencia could not seem to get rid of the people, for more kept coming up and embracing her. But she tried to keep up a friendly smile for Delphine's sake.

Valencia's eyes gazed over to where Commie stood. The Victor from Nine and Twelve were joined by some others. Career Victors'. They all surrounded Commie, staring at Valencia as they slowly sipped their glasses. Confetti and Louis. Jacob and Clara. Valencia had killed all of their tributes. They must hate her, especially Clara's mentor. It must be a shame that a District Two tribute got beaten by a District Nine in the finale. But there was some Victors', who all surrounded Commie since he was quite popular amongst them, that gave her sweet and sympathetic smiles. Those were the ones that Valencia seemed to like most. 

"I see you're enjoying the party." Ezra chucked as he wandered over to Valencia, squeezing past people. Before Valencia could even answer, people turned their attention from her to her stylist.

"Oh, Ezra Gael, what an honour!"

"Ezra, I haven't seen you in yonks!"

"Must be proud, you are!"

Ezra laughed and smiled as he waved at the people, Valencia sighing as she felt relieved that the attention was off her. Ezra seemed to handle the crowd beautifully since he managed to send them off on their ways, finally giving himself and Valencia space.

"As I was saying," Ezra began again. "I see your enjoying the party."

"How do Capitol people manage to do these daily?" Valencia bursted out, eyebrows furrowing as she bit the side of her mouth. "Everyone here is so touchy and they act as if you're their sister or something."

"Welcome to the Capitol, dear." Ezra sighed, his diamond jewellery swinging with every movement he did. "People are going to think you're their sister. Just got to play along with the act."

"It's only a matter of time before I punch them—"

"Let's not do that." Ezra smiled at her. "But it would make good headlines... anyway, no, don't do that."

"I'll try not to." Valencia smirked. "Just for you."

"Ah, Lennie!"

Commie, who was wearing a forest green suit and had a glass in his hand that was filled with something that looked like bourbon, came sauntering over to Valencia and Ezra. Alcohol reeked off of him as he came closer, liquor on his breath. To his right, a paunchy, middle-aged man with dark hair and grey eyes looked even more drunk than what Commie did. The Victor from Twelve. Haymitch Abernathy.

"Lennie, I want to introduce you to a very good friend of mine," Commie told her, his words slurred as he took a gulp of his alcohol. "Lennie, this is Haymitch Abernathy. Haymitch, this is Valencia Barlowe."

"An honour, Valencia Barlowe." Haymitch smiled at her, his entire being smelling like alcohol and liquor as he extended a hand to her. "Seriously, a true honour."

"Thank you, Mr Abernathy," Valencia said wearily. Ezra had wondered off to the pastel trio, leaving behind the three Victors' to speak. "An honour to meet you too."

"Really not, but I am flattered that you think it is."

"Haymitch is the Victor from Twelve," Commie explained to Valencia although she already knew that. "Won... what?... sixteen years ago?"

"Yes." Haymitch groaned. "That makes me sound old."

"Shut up, you're only thirty-two," Commie grumbled. "Try being forty-nine."

"Fair point... at least I didn't win thirty-three years ago."

"Git."

"Jerk."

"I thought you two were friends?" Valencia raised a brow as she looked from the two men.

"Oh, we are." Haymitch smirked at her. "We just like to bicker sometimes... we're much more friends than the Careers' are with each other..."

"Yeah, speaking of the Careers', don't go near them, Lennie." Commie coughed as he nudged his head at the four Victors' standing in the corner. "They don't... they don't really like you at the moment—"

"Don't worry, they're like this every year," Haymitch assured her. "They'll warm up to you eventually."

Valencia swallowed a lump in her throat as she looked over to where the Victors' from One and Two were standing. Two of them looked near identical, both having blonde curls with green eyes. The two looked classically beautiful in their attire. And then there was the pair from Two. The woman had long, brown hair that suited her tanned skin, but what made Valencia bite her tongue was when the woman growled at her, showing off her set of teeth that was cosmetically altered to have sharp points, looking like a piranha except her teeth were inlaid with gold. And then the man. He was a brute force, Valencia could tell. His head was bald and shiny and he was considerably muscular. But he was definitely full of himself by the way he acted, a smirk on his lips as he narrowed his eyes at Valencia. All of those most likely mentored Confetti, Louis, Jacob, and Clara. And Valencia had killed them all.

"Cashmere and Gloss are the two blonde ones, brother and sister," Commie began to explain. "Cashmere is very nice despite being a Career. And then Gloss is just a jerk. He doesn't like outlier districts. But Cashmere has some sort of control over him so it doesn't really matter."

"And then the bald guy and piranha chick is Brutus and Enobaria." Haymitch burped. "They're bloodthirsty and determined. Still act as if they are in the arena. Very rude, those two."

During Valencia's Victory Tour, she had met some of the Victors' though she had never met those from the Career districts. Some of the Victors' names were distant to Valencia, but there was some that she seemed to remember. Seeder from Eleven, who was Donna and Rome's mentor, and then Cecelia from Eight. Valencia did not hold any significance to the tributes from Eight, but Cecelia had some motherly instinct about her that made Valencia like her. But Valencia did not like Cashmere, Gloss, Brutus, or Enobaria. Cashmere, maybe, since she secretly shot her a soft smile, but she was still a Career. Valencia still killed her tribute.

"Most of the Victors' are rude." Commie scoffed as he looked at his cup in despair when he realised it was empty. "And now my cup is empty... come on, Haymitch, I need a refill."

"Lovely meeting you, Valencia," Haymitch muttered to Valencia before whispering, "Any friend of Commie's is considered a friend to me."

"Thank you, Haymitch."

Commie and Haymitch wondered over to where the waterfalls of wine and spirits were, both laughing and tripping over how drunk they were. Valencia sighed as she watched them, surveying her surroundings once more. 

Ever since Valencia left the arena, it still felt like she was in the Games. Everything she did was calculated and thought up in her mind. Every daily action was planned as if she was still in the arena. Everything she did, she had thought through first, just like in the arena. Valencia brainstormed all of the consequences that could happen if she made the wrong choice, just like in the Games. She was nearly sixteen and she was already drafting up battle plans. She was drafting up battle plans on what she should do next. And whenever someone would sneak up on her, like the man behind her just now, she would always reach for a knife, just like in the arena. And so when the person with intense cologne popped up beside her, Valencia reached down for a throwing knife, sighing when she felt silk touch her fingertips and not the sharp tip of a blade.

"I come in peace," the man said as he lifted his hands up in a defence position, backing off a bit. Valencia's eyes went wide when she turned around. Standing in a dashing, blue, velvet suit with a glass held in his hands, was Finnick Odair

"Oh, Finnick Odair." Valencia sighed as she dropped her hand, tilting her head as she smirked at the boy.

"Oh, Valencia Barlowe," Finnick copied her, his sea green eyes dancing over her. "It is such an honour to finally meet you."

"As is meeting you, Mr Odair."

"Oh, please." Finnick scoffed. "Just call me Finnick... that's what my friends call me."

"And I'm your friend?" Valencia tilted her head. "Mr Odair, we just met a few seconds ago."

"Fair point." Finnick nodded his head. "But let's be real, Valencia. We both have heard so much about the other. Good things and bad things. With all the knowledge that we have on each other, it's like we're friends anyway."

"What bad things have you heard of me?"

"Oh, absolutely nothing. The Capitol adores you," Finnick muttered. "But I'm sure you've heard bad things about me, however."

"Rumours float, Mr Odair." Valencia swallowed a lump in his throat. "Some good, some bad. No-one takes notice in them, I can assure you."

"So you have heard bad things about me?"

"Oh, of course." Valencia smirked. "But I like to keep an open mind on people. Even sickening, full of themselves men such as yourself."

"Well, lucky for me, I am not a man." Finnick winked at her before holding out his hand. "Will you and your open mind care for a dance?"

"Do I have a choice?"

"Not really."

Cautiously, Valencia reached forward and took Finnick's hand, shuddering at the sudden contact of their flesh. His hands were soft and warm as he dragged her over to the dance floor where the upbeat music had slowed down and transformed into a slow ballad. Valencia knew some dances, but those were traditional to Nine and did not go well with slow beats like the one playing. However, Delphine had taught her all about slow dancing and so Valencia readied herself when she felt Finnick pull her into his arms and they began to move in a circle.

"How are you enjoying the party?" Finnick began to ask her as he swirled her around. 

"I hate it," Valencia responded quickly, causing Finnick to chuckle. "I'm not much of a party goer, I'd rather be at home."

"I can tell," Finnick said. "If it makes you feel better, I'm not the one for parties either."

"You? The Finnick Odair is not one for parties?" Valencia scoffed. "I find that hard to believe."

"Well, we all have our little secrets, don't we?" Finnick said. "What about you, Valencia. Do you have any secrets worth my time?"

"Maybe." Valencia shrugged. "But why would I tell you my precious secrets, Finnick?"

"Don't know," Finnick told her. "Maybe because you can trust me—"

"I don't trust you."

"Good because I don't trust you either."

"At least the feeling is mutual." Valencia smirked. "Technically, we just met and so I don't feel comfortable telling you of all people my secrets."

"And it's because you don't trust me?"

"No. Well, partially," Valencia said. "But maybe it's because you'll go off telling all your lovers and girlfriends my secrets. I can't have that happening, can I?"

"I can assure you, Valencia," Finnick whispered as he leaned in closer towards her ear. "My lovers, as you call them, will not be hearing anything about you or your secrets. I'm not the type to gossip."

"Neither am I," Valencia said. "I can barely handle my own team gossiping. The drama in the Capitol is rather astounding."

"It is indeed." Finnick chuckled. "All these people stressing over who said what and who was wearing what. Us Victors', we just go with the flow. We don't care for drama. Half of us are friends, half of us aren't, it's simple."

"I'm assuming half of us aren't friends with the Careers' over there?"

"Some are all right, like Cashmere," Finnick murmured. "The others are just bloodthirsty and aggressive, like Brutus and Enobaria. And then there's the few who are the most kindest souls I've ever met."

"Like Seeder and Cecelia," Valencia murmured. "I met them on my Tour. They're nice."

"Seeder and Cecelia are the nicest they're going to get," Finnick said. "Other than Mags. I don't think you met her on your Tour, did you?"

"No, I didn't," Valencia said, her voice faint. "I didn't get to meet much Victors' in Four..."

And then it hit her like a ton of bricks. In the arena, Valencia had many allies in a way. Donna and Rome. The Careers' very briefly. And then Dominica. Dominica, the girl who got beheaded before her very own eyes. Dominica was from Four as was Azul who got slaughtered by Silas. Finnick was from Four. He was the most recent Victor. He was Dominica's and Azul's mentor. And District Nine was the cause of both of their tributes death. Silas killed Azul. Valencia practically killed Dominica. And now, Valencia had survived and was waltzing with Dominica's mentor. This boy had mentored Dominica.

"Valencia?" Finnick's voice rung in her ears as she felt herself become lightheaded. Finnick was Dominica's mentor. He watched their allyship. Finnick watched every single moment of Valencia and Dominica and had presumably watched Silas, who was from Nine as well, kill Azul. He watched as Dominica became revengeful, asking Valencia for help. Watched as Valencia killed Jacob in revenge. Watched as Valencia killed Silas. This boy had seen her every move in the Games. 

And by just looking at Finnick, Valencia could see the faint resemblance of Dominica. The sea green eyes, the tanned skin, bronze hair. Valencia supposed every person looked similar in Four. But her heart ceased as she could see Dominica in Finnick. Dominica was dead. And now Valencia was dancing with her mentor. 

But Valencia had stopped dancing, arms dropped from Finnick as she stared at him with wide eyes. Those sea green eyes looked like Dominica's though her's had more of a brown tone to them, but still. Those were the near exact sea green eyes that haunted her dreams. Now, a copy of them was looking down at her in concern as he took ahold of her biceps.

"Valencia?" Finnick kept asking. "What's wrong?"

Dominica. All Valencia could see was Dominica. Her smirk. Her tanned, freckled skin that was covered in the plantation teal coloured puffer jacket. Finnick's strong arms mimicking Dominica's strength. All she could see when she looked at Finnick was Dominica. And he realised this, for his eyes went wide as he took a sigh. He dropped his arms as he averted his eyes to the ground.

"I suppose her death effected both of us," he muttered. "She was your ally. She was my first tribute."

Valencia nodded slowly as she tried to swallow the lump that was in her throat. Dominica. All she could see was Dominica. Dominica, her ally, the girl she watched get beheaded.

"You know, Valencia," Finnick began to say when he forced himself to look up at her. "It's never easy being a Victor. All of us need someone, we all need someone or something to cling to. I suppose you have Commie and your bother." He obviously didn't know about their feud. "But if you ever need anything, don't hesitate to call. I can help you if you want. For Dominica."

"For Dominica," Valencia muttered under her breath.

Valencia tried to calm down her racing mind, her broken, sad mind that keeps betraying her. Thoughts of Dominica and Finnick filled her mind. Her head was still in the Games. Her mind was still in the arena. Valencia was slowly losing her sanity.

 Valencia Barlowe was a corpse. Valencia Barlowe was a corpse with a shattered heart and broken mind. No-one could fill those voids, not even Finnick Odair.

⇢ ˗ˏˋ matz 🎧 !

— we're in catching fire now ;)

and questions about who killed maynard shall be answered