elegy for the fake bitches, [jupiter toast].

"Are we sure Dad's gonna be able to cross the threshold?" Jupiter walks up the steps to the chapel quickly, the sound of her and Georgia's footsteps clicking against the stone in time with one another. A camera snaps, and then another; she makes sure they get her good side.


"Quick, someone grab a match!" Words whispered over a shoulder, said with a laugh. The camera might pick up a smile. Good, she makes a mental note. The tabloids always like when she spends time with her elusive elder sister. "You know, they made me cut my hair for this."

"Made me!"

Jupiter tells her big sister the whole story while they get her situated with hair and makeup in one of the back rooms. She tries not to make it obvious when she looks towards the doorway, waiting to see if their dad would follow through and show. A stylist had shown up with her team the day before, supposedly on his orders, right on the front stoop to Jupiter's townhouse. Could you believe it? she'd asked around a mouthful of plain lettuce (she just wanted something crunchy!). Georgia laughs and moves out of the makeup artists way, staying out the way of even their shadows. Jupiter tsks at Georgia's fingernails, and pretends to listen when she tells her she hasn't gotten them done because she's been working on some tiered cave system—blah, blah, blah. Whenever she started talking arena, Jupiter stopped listening.

"Here's that document for you, Ms. Tallis," her assistant comes in after a while to drop a small blue envelope in Jupiter's lap. It's got her lines from her team, reprinted in a font Jupiter can actually read this time. She fiddles with the end of her vape while she reads, periodically taking long drags. Georgia blows one away from her face and leave with an eye roll, wishing her sister the best of luck on the silver screen.

"Don't need it!" was Jupiter's only reply.

"Good Morning, I promise not to keep you long." The smile she gives is practiced, the lines learned and turned into muscle memory. The years doing cold reads off the prompter had taught her get with it, or get the hell out. So far, she was still standing. "I know these things are typically done at parties, but I wanted to take a moment here and make a toast to all of you, the citizens of the Capitol. By your grace and glory, we stand stronger than ever. A ninety-fifth games under our belt, can you believe it?" She takes a moment here to look to her left, though not really down at the table positioned there. Knowing audience members will recognize the church's gardens, and those who don't will be none the wiser to the quiet indication of support. She gives the camera a moment to pan towards the roses before pulling focus back to her. "I'm sure some of you have heard the saying 'keep your ear to the ground.' I know my fellow journalists will, at the very least." She pauses, only for effect. "I wonder how many of you know the phrase comes from before the war, when people would ride horses around rather than the vehicles we all know and love today." A laugh here, a laugh there; a hand to her chest. "I hate to dabble in clichés, but I can't help but feel like lately, it's been feeling like our districts have been coming at us from all sides. Lower districts winning the games, liars reporting on sponsorship misinformation." She sighs, shakes her head. Now she swallows, as if saddened, in pain. "I, for one, am tired of this onslaught of perceived freedom.

"Let me be your ear to the ground, Panem. Let me get you through the stampede.

"I am Jupiter Tallis, and I approve this message."

"Awesome, awesome," a producer surges forward, pushing the cameraman out of the way and getting in Jupiter's face. He puts both of his hands out, wide, though she couldn't tell you why for the life of her. She always hated when men did that. So comfortable taking up space. "That was beautiful, Ms. Tallis. We'll roll end credits from there, do the credits to One World and your other sponsors in the fine print under that picture of you your team submitted. Bada bing, bada boom."

He made a horrendous little presto motion with his hands, which Jupiter didn't bother pretending to smile at.

"Bada bing, bada boom," she said, sunglasses settling into place while she walked out the door. Dad never did show. She'd have to hope for a spontaneous combustion another day.