rockabye [Moss]

.:.:.:.:.:.:.
i thought of angels choking on their halos
get them drunk on rose water
.:.:.:.:.:.:.

Day six of the Games and both her tributes were alive, the only remaining district pair. Topaz Ross's mentoring skills were being lauded—Peridot could have gotten some credit too, but as this was only his second Games as a mentor, he was still considered inexperienced—but as usual, she didn't care in the slightest. She hadn't done any more mentoring this time around than she had in the past; it just happened that District One tributes were typically more prepared for the Games than their competition, and as a result, performed much better and lasted much longer. With little effort on her part, one or both of her tributes usually made it pretty far: the exception, of course, being the 59th, which… well, she didn't want to remember that. The victor had done everything she could to repress the death of the one remaining person she loved, and it was painful beyond belief whenever the memory resurfaced.

That day she was scheduled for an interview; usually the mentor interviews accompanied the family and friends interviews that happened when they hit the top eight, but the bloody feast the day before had brought the pool down to nine, eight, seven all in a matter of minutes. So she and the mentors of the five other surviving tributes were called to the production center to be asked countless questions about their mentoring tactics. "What is your strategy, Topaz? How do you guide your tributes to the end of the Games? How will you ensure their victory?" "Well, I'm really a laissez-faire kind of mentor, you know? I've found that leaving them to their own devices brings out the best of them; just let them make their own decisions and they'll grow stronger." Code for, I-don't-give-a-fuck. But the reporters ate it up, believing that it truly was her success strategy, rather than just her method of taking the lazy way out. She rehearsed her fake answers in her head while readying herself for the interview, but it was when she was rummaging around under her bathroom sink that she realized something very, very wrong.

Topaz Ross's body had betrayed her in a number of ways over the course of her twenty-four years, but the one area in which it never failed was menstruation; ever since that fateful day at age thirteen, her period had always been flawlessly on time. When had it been due this month? She did a quick calculation in her head; a week before the Reaping. More than three weeks ago. How had she missed that? The pomp and circumstance of training week must have distracted her, and then all the attention her tributes were getting in the arena. It was no shock she hadn't noticed. Her heart dropped about a mile in her chest, but she shook her head, refusing to believe it. It couldn't be possible. She and Maverick had been relatively abstinent lately, much to her dismay… but then she recalled that night about a month previous, when he'd taken her to dinner and given her the star treatment he used to back when they were dating when they'd returned home. No way.

"Kaiser!" Though as an adult now she was allowed the privilege of dressing herself, the redhead often consulted her former stylist on clothing matters, and besides, as they were both on the District One officials team they were still residing in the training center together. He was still one of her closest confidants, even eight years later; that was why his name was the first she called when the realization hit her. He came strolling into her room a minute later, clearly with no sense of urgency though her tone had been dire. "What's up, Topaz? Tore a hole in your new dress, or something? I'm not your personal tailor." He poked his head through the open bathroom door and saw that she still remained in her robe, though she was due at the production station in fifteen minutes. "What's wrong?" In answer, Topaz laid a hand on her stomach. "I think I might be… knocked up."

He didn't seem to show any sort of surprise. Instead—"Please tell me it's Maverick's." Topaz narrowed her eyes and crossed her arms. "Who else's would it be?" she sneered, not expecting an answer because if she had been abiding by her old moral parameters, it could quite possibly have been someone else's. But I've been good. "Can you just find me a test, Kaiser? Please? I need to know." Needed to know if her entire life would be completely turned around. Needed to know if she, with her fucked up life, was actually supposed to raise a child and not screw it up. The now aging stylist gave a colossal sigh and sent a glare in her direction. "Fine. But you keep getting ready for that interview, evil spawn in your uterus or otherwise. And act like everything's normal. The last thing you need is for this to go public before you're ready for it, because you of all people know how relentless they can be." With that he disappeared, and Topaz was left to slip into her short, fluffy interview dress, tie her hair up into a sleek knot because it was fastest, and pray that there was some mistake.

There was no mistake. Ten minutes later found Topaz Ross, Victor of the 56th Hunger Games, staring at the red positive sign that had appeared on the sleek, Capitol-design stick. She gaped at it for another minute, and then suddenly the weight of it all came crashing down on her shoulders and she collapsed to her knees, trying to hold back frightened sobs as they threatened to tear from her throat. Kaiser was there a second later, his hand on her back. "Why are you so upset, dear? He's your husband," he attempted, losing his snarky sarcasm from before because he always did when she was truly upset. "I can't be a mother, Kaiser," she wailed. "I can't. I'm too fucked up." So fucked up it was like someone had driven a truck over her conscience and stomped on her better judgment wearing stiletto heels. Her life had been a nightmare ever since she'd stepped up to volunteer for her little sister on that Reaping stage. Now where was she? That little sister was dead and gone, and she was a loose whore married to someone she desperately wanted to love but couldn't quite make herself. Having his baby. Which was supposed to be a joyous occasion, but it may as well have been the apocalypse for the way she was taking it. "Go to your interview," Kaiser instructed firmly. "Put on a brave face like you always do. Get used to the idea. Then after, come back and call Maverick and tell him. He deserves the happy news." Then he disappeared, leaving her to handle this all own her own. As usual.

That interview was one of the hardest of her life, nearly as hard as her victory interview, because she was forced to go the entire time pretending everything was totally normal and her sole concern was in whether her tributes lived or died. As usual, though, Topaz was a flawless actress for the cameras; she gave all the right answers, though they took a bit more effort than they should have, given the circumstances. The reporters were quite satisfied with her performance. She looked over at Klaus and Lethe, both giving interviews for their tributes as well; coincidentally, they both had their own babies to deal with. Ara and Mace had Kieran, too. She wasn't totally alone. There's going to be a little person relying on me for everything. Holy, shit. But she pushed that from her mind, and once out of there she slowly made her way back to her room in the training center, all the while trying to plan out what she would say to Maverick. How did you tell someone he was going to be a father? Especially someone who would be far more thrilled than you were? Pushing aside her inhibitions, she dialed his number. "Hey, Mav," she began. "So I had my interview this morning. The usual bullshit. Now I'm supposed to spend the rest of the day in the Mentor center keeping watch on Opal and Xanthus. I'm so sick of this; they either need to die or win already and put me out of my misery." She said all this at near double the speed she usually talked; nervous babble. "Oh, and did I mention I'm pregnant?"