The 88th Afterparty

Since rising, he hasn't belonged to himself.

"Get used to it," was the only advice he'd received, "This isn't about you."

Avriel had sat there for two hours as they clipped his hair back, claiming that the damage was irreparable thanks to the blood, dirt and sand matting all the strands together. He doesn't mind it half as much as they assume that he does, hair is just hair.

He's lost more than that.

Now he stares at another mirror as they cut his hair shorter for the evening's event. His crown sits on the makeup table in front of him and Scout sits within it, a child stuck in a play pen.

Av already isn't looking forward to wearing it again, it's far too heavy for his head.

And he doesn't like what it implies.

Gloria glides in, all done up and scoops Scout up, "He's not going to like it out there," she chirps, "I'll have him sent to your room for safe keeping."

Her tone implies that she's doing him a favour but Avriel hasn't been parted from Scout since Areto's death. He grimaces and holds his hand out for the little kodama, already struggling in Gloria's taloned grasp. She ignores him, already moving away at top speed.

"So kind of the Fenwicks to provide a luxury suite for you in Saturn City!" she says cheerily. Her heels clicking on the linoleum leave a cold beat at the back of his head.

Avriel sighs, eyes on his reflection again. He doesn't look like himself anymore, his cheeks have gone hollow. He didn't even like looking at himself much before this and seeing himself on the screen has been even worse, the boy up there, eyes wide, soft, holding onto Areto for hours after her death.

That's not him either.

That's too much, that's not him.

But what if they want that boy? Raw and bleeding still.

"Someone get Avriel in the wings," comes a heated command through a headset, "Risky's starting early."

He shuts his eyes as they dust setting powder over his makeup, just enough to make him look a little less exhausted, and then he's being led quickly down a long hallway. Like always, his body reacts first, his heart rate picks up as he hears the first murmurings of the crowd and then Risky's voice booms down the hall, introducing him as if he's even someone worth introducing.

How long until the glamour falls and they see him for real?

Risky calls his name and thunderous applause fills the building, pushing out all other sound. Avriel squeezes his eyes shut and steps backwards into the peacekeepers that have been stuck to him like glue since he left the medical ward. They each place a hand on his back and push him forward into the light and the applause grows louder.

People scream at him from every direction and it's like the presentation ceremony all over again but this time worse.

Neon light shines down and the Capitolites are in varying states of undress, completely different from the elegance of the morning ceremony. It's hard to look at anyone too long, purple skin and glowing teeth smile at him from every corner and Avriel is completely overwhelmed.

He stands there in silence, wide-eyed and so uncomfortable and wishing to be anywhere but there.

"Don't get humble on us now!!" Risky says and he feels an elbow in his side.

Avriel winces, opens his mouth, "Uh," he says.

The crowd goes silent, waiting for wisdom but Avriel has absolutely none.

"Thanks for coming," he offers.

The crowd goes wild and Avriel turns to leave, hands in his pockets to hide the shake, but then there's Gloria in the hallway he emerged from, gesturing wildly at the crowd.

'Not done!' she mouths at him.

He turns around again and the crowd seems to go quiet immediately, waiting for more with bated breath.

"...You really didn't have to..." he gestures at the decorations, the holograms, the lights, "You didn't have to do all this for me."

That feels like enough but no one makes a move, they want more. Sweat drips down the back of his neck from standing under the hot lights and Avriel opens another button on the suit jacket Robbie put him in, revealing a bare chest dusted with a fine glitter.

"...Actually I wish you hadn't," he says.

Confused looks.

"But you did, so... uh... enjoy yourselves?"

Good enough. The crowd seems to like it and Risky takes the spotlight back to start a recap. Avriel makes a beeline for the stairs down to the first floor, rushing to get away from Gloria before she can corner him and tell him how much he just embarrassed her.

Too many people, too many expectations that he can't hope to fulfill and he hates crowds, always has, but it's not like the Peacekeepers can keep up with him in one.

He reaches the bottom step and slips into the stream of the VIP lounge.

Girls, I'm about to get fired.

Becoming something of a social media mogul was an inevitable accident. Saying I didn't need a manager wasn't, but now I'm kinda starting to regret it because I was late trying to find the password for this venue's POLA account I'm supposed to be managing tonight. I got the mail alert, saw how much they wanted to pay me, texted back a 'K.' and didn't read much else. Turns out I gotta post the entire night? Fuck!

And to make matters worse I took too many Gems (they named a pill after me, cute huh?). How do you spell--

"JEMMAAAAAAAAA!"

Hey that's my name. Right?

-- party? P-A-R-Y-- no, shit, backspace--

"WHERE is my Quartz!"

"Babe, I'm in the shit. Rrrrrrreal bad," the letter R tastes funny and I laugh, raising my phone up to snap a pic. If there's one thing I can do out of my fucking mind, it's tag @sampsoncrowe. Muscle memory's a good bitch.

"I gotta take like 40 pics tonight or they'll want their deposit back!" camera flashing in my hands. "And I already spent it on this bag!" A sparkle emoji or five, swipe three times for a filter, is it really a shade of blue or am I just high?

"Where oh where are my bad bitches?"

Jerk a thumb to my left, point twelve-o'clock sharp, I'm a compass. Keeping track of these lunatics at a party is a part-time job I'm severly underpaid for. "Ariadne, just arrived. Wilder, stage. Sailor," who the fuck cares -- "who the fuck knows?"

I guess I gotta find her, side-chick on someone's arm. Career stylists always get a few more decades of relevancy for simply being associated. Bitch!

"Wanna Gem?" lift up my tiny pink diamond case to their face, shake it around like a rattle. Risky walks past, I get it in slow motion. The light always hits her just right, contoured for the gods. I can feel the sound of my pills on my face and I still don't know what venue I'm supposed to tag, hit post anyway.

A drink is pushed into his hand pretty much right away and Avriel inspects it for a moment first. He's never really been into drinking anything but black coffee and water but every now and then a gang he's working for at the time will insist on drinks after a job well done. He's good then at going for a can of cheap beer because at least he can trust those to taste like shit.

The glass they pass off to him is facetted and translucent lilac but the liquid inside is crystal clear. He sniffs it carefully and it smells like water but when Avriel takes a sip, a series of flavours flood his palette all at once. Raspberry, then cream come hand-in-hand and it's chased by the bitterness of lemon. He blinks, tongue numb from the substance and puts the still-half full cup down on a passing tray.

And the light warps above his head, swirling up out of its set path to waft around his head. He shuts his eyes as the anthem plays briefly through one of Risky's highlight reels and suddenly it's so loud, all around him, just as it was in the arena. "Hey wait," he mutters and steadies himself on a table, "Let's turn that off?"

But no one can hear him above the sound of metal crashing against metal. He opens his eyes and there he is, giant on a big screen, bleeding out with a mangled foot, Reece alive in front of him.

"Vouloir c'est pouvoir," echoes his voice across the crowd and the crowd screams back to want is to be able!

Avriel winces and turns away, searching for somewhere quiet to be but there's no escape, everywhere he turns there's just someone else standing there waiting for him. Hands take his and let go again in moments, there's a voice in his ear, a chin propped on his shoulder, breath too close and Avriel shudders. The fawning is endless, they touch everywhere and he opens his mouth, then closes it again

His breathing picks up, it's hard to breathe at all, there's so much smoke in the room and Avriel pushes back gently, excuses falling like rain from his lips as he searches for an exit. He's nowhere close when someone calls out for him.

"Baptiste–" yells some lady with blue hair.

Avriel blinks at her as she flips him off, just one hand because the other is digging in her pocket for something. He waits, frozen, wondering if she's got a weapon and she's come to kill him not even a week since he left the arena. When she reveals her hand though, all she has is some paper ticket.

It flutters into the air gently when she throws it at him and Avriel watches it flip about as it seems to fall into his hand. He blinks at it, the drug in his system makes the lettering on it enlarge, bulge, pop and fly away. It's not supposed to do that.

"Nah, haven't hearda that," he answers her even as his fingers close around the ticket.

She's angry as hell at him but Avriel's so used to that reaction upon meeting someone new now that it hardly phases him. Still, whatever this invitation is, date, meet-up, whatever, Avriel isn't so certain that he wants to go at all.

"Hey wait," he says as the girl stomps off as quickly as she arrived, "Who're you?"

But she's already gone and the gap that she made when she left is quickly filled by someone else.

A  S  H  .

"Hey wait, who're you?"

"Oh, wow," Ash says as Vanya Bellisario gives the newest victor some tasteful sign language. Blue haired demon brushes past the both of them out of the VIP, leaving Avriel on read in person while Ash gags for the camera. 

Sure enough, Bellisario is out of there and just as quick Ash Fixated is in her spot. "What a bitch, am I right? Ash Fixated," they reach out and shake Baptiste's hand, "with The Buzz: TM! I've heard you're shy so don't worry, I'll do the talking." As if that was ever a question, they pick up a sample martini from the VIP platter. "I ask questions, you give tea, we all know the drill by now, yeah?" 

They wave off the remark as they and the cameraman take a seat next to District 9's newest victor, thee hottest moment in the Capitol at the moment. "So ohmygod, your hair looks incredible, tell me all about your stylist, tell me everything. How has the Capitol been treating you?" They say before sipping Martini out of the little glass straw. 

"Good, right? If not, well, who do I need to talk to." Fucking with a victor is fucked up! 

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