Chapter Text
Livia is more than a little peeved now.
She huffs, mulling over the last ‘conversation’ with Facet, if it could be described as much. Why was he never satisfied? She brought food. She brought strategies. She even proved him wrong by saying ‘sorry’ right to his face. He was the boy from District One—that should have been a fortunate windfall for her! Why couldn’t he just be the guaranteed victory he was supposed to be? What more did he want from her? How was she meant to get him to listen?
Treating him like a person might be a start.
Livia almost dismisses the reminder of Plinth’s words. She had dismissed it entirely at the time. Was he trying to tell her that Livia was meant to treat the tributes the same as a Capitol citizen would be treated? That was ridiculous. The Districts had caused them so much harm during the war. Livia remembers being six-years-old and hiding in a bomb shelter. She remembers the slow rebuild when the terror had finally ended when she was eight. Did Plinth honestly expect her to pamper the ones responsible?
She falls into her pillows and wakes the next day, only to find that it isn’t the next day at all. When she arrives at the Academy, she doesn’t immediately acknowledge Coriolanus’s absence. He’d been in the hospital, she’d heard, in the aftermath of the bombing. Except by lunch, she gets the news that Coriolanus Snow had made a fool of himself by falling into the monkey cage with the rest of the tributes.
It’s the day the tributes arrived in the Capitol, she realizes. How wonderful!
Livia has the opportunity to remake her impression with Facet and avoid whatever hissy fit he seemed to have with her in the aftermath of the rebel bombing. Livia takes a seat by Arachne, pleased to see her friend alive and well again. It’s an easy topic to gossip over their usually put-together classmate looking so ruffled on live broadcast.
Which reminds her, Capitol News would be there later that afternoon, wouldn’t they? She hadn’t been watching, but she’d heard of the impromptu picnic that Coriolanus had with his tribute. It had boosted Lucy Gray’s popularity. If Livia were to be there, surely she could do the same with Facet. He was healthy, strong, and eighteen. He’d look much more appealing on television than Lucy Gray, if only she took the time to direct Lepidus Malmsey’s attention to him amidst the other District ruffians.
She instructs her driver to bring her there directly after classes, and is delighted to find that none of her other classmates are there yet. Unfortunately, her haste came at the drawback of arriving empty-handed. It shouldn’t be an issue. Today was only meant to be an introduction. She could offer food once Facet spoke to her. It would set a better precedent that way, Livia was sure. She weaves her way through the crowd, easily directly people out of her path with the reputation that her Academy uniform provided.
“Facet,” she calls. “Facet! I’m your mentor.”
He pauses his conversation with Velvereen to look in her direction, but does not yet make any moves to approach her. She sees him exchange some words with his District partner that she is unable to make out before he deigns to acknowledge her presence. Livia’s smile widens as Facet finally turns to face her. It isn’t the warm reception she’d been hoping for, but Livia brushes it off, determined to make a good impression this time around.
“Facet, I’m Livia, your mentor,” she repeats. “I’m here to help you win.”
“You’re a mentor like that other one,” he says, and studies her for a moment. “How exactly are you planning to help me win, hm?”
“I’ll get you supplies and sponsors.”
“Supplies and sponsors,” he echoes skeptically.
“If you haven’t already heard, the Games are different this year. If you get sponsors, I can send you supplies in the Arena.”
“I’ll still have to fight.”
“It will be easier to fight if you’re fed.”
“And where are these supplies now? Neither of us,” Facet gestures between himself and Velvereen, “have eaten since before the Reaping.”
Livia frowns. “The Reaping was two days ago.”
Velvereen rolls her eyes. “Yeah, it was.”
No wonder they were so ill-tempered. Perhaps that had been the issue all along: Facet was just moody because he hadn’t eaten in a while. Fates knew that she could get snappy when the Academy lunch was less than stellar. Livia considered her current lack of food before her eyes fell on her wayward classmate’s arrival. What perfect timing! Plinth didn’t look like he was having any more luck speaking with his tribute than the last time he’d tried this exact same thing, but he did bring bags of sandwiches, and something else.
“I’ll be right back,” she assures Facet, before making her way over to Plinth. He was now unsuccessfully trying to get the attention of Felix’s sickly tribute. Clemensia’s tribute was standing by the girl’s side like a sentinel, and both were giving Plinth equally wary looks. What a pity that none of his District money could buy him an advantage.
“Having trouble there?”
Plinth sighs. “Hello, Livia.”
“Give me one.”
“What?”
“You’ve got plenty,” she notes. His bag of sandwiches is half-open. Are those plums in the other bag? “Give me one for my tribute.”
He doesn’t make a move to do anything.
“Just hand one over, Plinth,” says Livia, growing exasperated. “Before they all go to waste.”
Plinth hesitates for another moment before he gives her two of each, awkwardly shouldering the bag to offer them to her. “Give one to Velvereen too, if she’s willing to take it.”
Livia waves him off. “Yeah, sure.” She returns to Facet with the sandwiches, plums, and a pleased smile. “Here you go!”
Facet and Velvereen exchange looks before he cautiously accepts.
Livia glances over to Plinth, who seems to be having more luck handing out what he’d brought after the other tributes had noticed Livia’s tribute taking it without issue. Lepidus Malmsey seems to, rightfully, take notice of Livia’s impact, and before she knows it, he’s by her side with a microphone and camera directed at her.
“Well, well, well!” says Malmsey. “Doesn’t this look like a picnic!”
“Yes indeed! I’m Livia Cardew, and this is my tribute: Facet of District One!”
Several oohs make their way through the present crowd. Livia preens at the attention.
“District One! We’ve certainly seen a few Victors from there. Haven’t we folks?”
“We’re sure to see another one this year,” adds Livia. She doesn’t have much to work with, but she speaks a bit more of Facet’s chances, of his healthy stature, of his strength compared to the other tributes, of all the observations she’s made of him and how they’d only serve to benefit him in the Games. “—so be sure to keep an eye out for when bets open up to sponsor him!”
Malmsey makes a few more closing comments before Livia is left to speak with Facet again. She doesn’t notice how silent he’s been while she has been talking him up until she turns back to him and sees that the sandwich she’d given him is still uneaten. His demeanor has gone from cautious to near hostile. It reminds her uncomfortably of their past interaction, of Facet shouting at her, at him coldly demanding: What are you apologizing for?
What was there for Livia to apologize for then?
She didn’t even know why he was seemingly upset at her now.
“What is it?” asks Livia.
Facet is frowning. “What was that?”
Something about the way he says it is making Livia feel oddly defensive.
“I was making you look good to the audience!” explains Livia.
“You don’t know anything about me.”
“I know enough.”
“Like what, exactly?”
“Your chances are good. You’re from One. You’re from one of the few Districts that have more than one Victor.” Nevermind that Facet had died rather pathetically the last couple times. He didn’t need to know that. Neither did the watchers that Malmsey was broadcasting to. If he had sponsors, he would win. Livia was sure.
But Facet looks even less happy with her, then.
“What’s wrong?” asks Livia.
“None of that was about me, you realize.”
Livia looks at him oddly. “Yes, it is.”
“No, it isn’t.”
“You are from One,” she says slowly, as though speaking to a child. Weren’t they the same age? What wasn’t making sense to him? “District One has a couple Victors already.”
“There’s one living Victor back home.”
“What?” Livia is quite sure there were at least two Victors that had hailed from District One. Facet gives her a look that makes her feel stupid. She doesn’t like it.
“Besides,” Facet continues. “No one really comes back from the Games.”
It’s nonsensical. “What are you talking about?”
Facet doesn’t answer her question.
“Are these safe?” he asks instead, holding up the wrapped sandwich.
Did he think they were poisoned or something?
“Plinth’s too soft to tamper with it.”
“Plinth?”
Livia waves a hand at her District classmate. “Sejanus Plinth.”
Plinth was still trying (and failing) to appeal to his tribute.
It was rather sad. At least Livia was doing much better with Facet.
“Hm.” Facet looks back down at his sandwich before unwrapping it. “So, why do you care about how I do in the Hunger Games?”
“I want you to win.”
“Why?”
Livia doesn’t know what keeps her from mentioning the Plinth Prize.
It would be a benefit them both, wouldn’t it?
Facet would be the Victor. Livia would get to go to University without having to pay for it. She was hardly in need of money, but every dollar saved was a benefit regardless. Not to mention the attention of being the mentor of the winning tribute. Maybe it was all the words that Facet had shouted in the past, of how he’d die happy knowing she’d be bitter without a prize. It sours her mood.
Facet presses on. “What are you getting out of this, huh?”
“You’d win too,” Livia says. It sounds weaker coming out of her mouth than how it had sounded in her mind. “We’d both win if you’re the Victor.”
“We’d both win,” repeats Facet. His derision is clear. “But you wouldn’t be in the Arena, would you?”
Livia is at a loss for how to respond. “You’d be the Victor. Don’t you want to win, Facet?”
“I guess I’ll just die, then?” interjects Velvereen. She’d been silent thus far, and looks even more put out than Facet does. “Where’s my mentor?”
“She’ll be around,” assures Livia. She can’t remember if or when Palmyra had visited Velvereen. She’s mostly grateful for the opportunity to change the topic. “Her name is Palmyra Monty.”
“But she isn’t here now.”
On further consideration, Livia doesn’t feel up to talking about this subject either. Mentioning death while the girl meets her eyes sends an uncomfortable feeling sinking into her stomach. Livia doesn’t know why; Velvereen wasn’t her tribute, or her responsibility. She’d have to be out of the way for Facet to win. Livia shouldn’t be bothered by this. It was simply a fact of the matter.
“Facet,” she says, swiftly changing tracks. “Why don’t we get a headstart on strategizing?”
Velvereen looks upset at being blatantly ignored, but Livia isn’t responsible for her. It doesn’t bother her. It doesn’t. It doesn’t. Not at all. Livia was fine. Palmyra could deal with her tribute when she gets here. Livia makes to shoo Velvereen away so Livia doesn’t have to see that expression on her face, so Velvereen is unable to overhear their plans. Facet goes back to having that displeased look on his face. What is it now? She doesn’t get why he seems so mad at her every other sentence. Does he want Velvereen to overhear their strategy?
But Velvereen doesn’t leave, and Facet doesn’t make her. Instead, he goes in on Livia with criticism. “What kind of strategy could you help with? You don’t look like you’ve ever had to fight in your life.”
She knew what it was like to fight. She’d lived through the war, as Facet should very well know, considering it was the Districts that had caused so much strife in those years of her childhood. And yet, he didn’t seem to want to hear it. “Are you purposely trying to sabotage yourself?” Livia wonders aloud. Was she just doomed with a tribute who hated her?
It only seems to rile up Facet. “Do you even hear yourself? What was it you were saying earlier about ‘District One having Victors’ and how my ‘chances were good’? Or did you not even believe that when you said it?”
“What skills do you have in fighting?” presses Livia. “If there’s a specific weapon you want to request for the Arena, I could—”
“Panem, spare me. Forget it.” Facet turns away, but Livia can still make out a few words of what he’s muttering. “Left with…pampered…going to die.”
Livia huffs. Fine, then.
If he didn’t want her help, then she certainly wasn’t obligated to provide it.
She takes her leave, and makes it two steps before she’s in the Arena again. It’s the tour, she recognizes, right before the bombs go off again. Livia orients herself quickly and manages to grab Facet before he runs. What a wasted chance it would be if he were shot yet again. He rips his arm away from her grip, but thankfully, the Peacekeepers restrain him before he can go much further.
Less fortunately, when Livia visits him the following day, he’s hostile again.
“Oh, yes, because you’ve offered me so much help.”
“I brought you food! I visited the first day!”
“You never visited,” he snaps. “Much less bring me anything.”
Did that not happen?
Livia diverts to a different topic.
“What do you want from me then?”
“To stop pretending that you care. You wouldn’t mourn me if I died. You’re only here for your little project,” he says disdainfully. “You’re only doing this,”—he gestures to her, here, now—“for yourself.”
“What’s wrong with wanting both?”
“So my life is worth the same as—what? Your assignment?”
“It’s a scholarship for University.”
“Oh, that’s much better.” His voice is dripping in sarcasm. “How much money is my life valued at then?”
“Why do you have to be so rude? I’m trying to help you!”
It feels like she’s had this same conversation, over and over, to no avail. She thinks of how Facet had almost been compliant when she’d given him and Velvereen the sandwich and plums. What had gone right in that first moment? Where had it gone wrong? If she could just crack the solution for the correct steps to take…
“How?”
Livia snaps out of her reverie. “What?”
“How are you helping?”
“I’m here, aren’t I? If you’d listen, we can strategize.”
“Except you won’t be in the Arena.”
“Well, of course not. But if you follow the strategy—”
“You sound like the factory supervisor,” he interrupts.
His voice is laced with exasperation. Livia meets it with confusion.
“Huh?” she asks. “Why is that relevant?”
In lieu of a proper respect, Facet lets out a tired sigh, turning away from her. “Do you even hear yourself?”
Livia lets out a sound of frustration.
Why does he keep saying that?
She doesn’t know what he’s trying to get at here.
Why is he even talking about some ‘supervisor’ anyway? Her family had a few bank supervisors that aided in the management of the finances that were held in their business, but what would he know about that? Supervisors were there to ensure everything ran smoothly, to make sure that people did their jobs. Was he trying to insult her? It wasn’t a very good one, if that was the case. So why—
—Livia blinks. She’s in front of Facet. And Velvereen.
Facet is turned away, but Velvereen still has a partially eaten sandwich in her hands. Plinth makes a small commotion as he pushes his way out of the crowd to leave. She’s back at the first day again. Facet had been slightly more agreeable in this iteration, hadn’t he? She can work with this. She just has to impress her strategy upon him, and then he’ll be set for the Hunger Games. Simple.
“What’s a factory supervisor?” she asks.
That…is not what she had intended to say. Livia suppresses the irritation rising in her chest. Stupid Facet for making her wonder about him and his life. Now her thoughts were all scrambled because of his odd District phrases. If he was capable of speaking normally, Livia would not be having this issue.
Velvereen gives her a curious look. “Are you asking me?”
Livia almost says no—What does she care for a tribute that isn’t hers?—but she supposes that Velvereen could answer just as well. “Both of you,” she responds.
“I…” begins Velvereen. “He oversees the jewelry production in the factory we work at. He doesn’t work, mind you, but…” She trails off, hesitant to share more.
“Facet?” prompts Livia.
He turns back with visible reluctance. Livia gets that same up-and-down look that he’d given her in previous repetitions; it’s something scrutinizing and not quite trusting, but whatever he finds in his observation shifts something in his attitude. He straightens, and the posture might look regal if he weren’t, well, District. Somehow, that detail seems less important with the dignity he holds himself with now.
“Why do you want to know?”
“I just—” she hesitates. You don’t know anything about me, echoes in her mind, and she hadn’t, not before now, because this was the first time she had actually stopped to ask Facet about himself. “Well, I want to learn more about you. We might as well start there.”
It’s an awkward response. Livia wouldn’t dare sound so unsure about her words in a professional setting. She would not be so hesitant in her speech if she were to address her parents. But Facet never seemed to care about her authority. He wasn’t impressed by her status, and it made her feel uncertain—something she was raised to never be. Something she was never quite allowed to be.
Facet is silent for a moment. “You’re not going to ask about skills again?”
“It would be helpful,” Livia says cautiously.
He scrutinizes her for several long moments. Livia waits.
Eventually, he says, “We haven’t exactly prepared for all this, but I’m alright with knives.”
A response! She’s making progress!
Livia gets swept into an air of delight.
She wasn’t used to celebrating small victories like this, but Facet’s willingness to share here—even a little—felt like a momentous step forward. Had she ever been this pleased when she worked her way into the top twenty-four in the Academy? It was an academic struggle to accomplish it, but it was expected of her, and she’d done it.
Conversing with Facet—well.
It was different, certainly.
She hadn’t expected to need to talk with him.
But she is currently. It was now a matter of keeping it up.
“Throwing knives?” she asks.
“Cooking for my family.”
“You’re a chef!” says Livia, delighted. “What’s your favorite dish?”
“Not a chef,” says Facet, wryly. “It’s mostly chopping up what we can afford. Stews are fairly simple. They’re filling.”
Livia brings up a few of her favorite dishes. Surprisingly, neither of them seemed to recognize the dishes, which was terrible. Apparently, they hadn’t even known of the variety that was available in the Capitol. It didn’t look as though Facet was poor. Why was he so unaware? She promises to bring a few of him to try the following day. She’s sure that she can get her maid to prepare something later on.
“You have a maid?” says Velvereen.
Livia nods. “To do the cooking and cleaning.”
Wasn’t it obvious?
Apparently not, because when she wonders that aloud, Facet informs: “I wouldn’t be working at the factory all week if someone could pay me to do basic chores.”
Wait. How could he be working everyday?
“Don’t you go to school?” she asks.
“I pick up shifts around my classes.”
“...oh.” Livia sits on that thought for a long moment. “You must really enjoy jewelry-making.” She was personally more into styling jewelry with her outfits, but she could understand different passions. “It sounds very crafty.”
It earns her simultaneous scoffs from Facet and Velvereen.
Livia isn’t quite sure what she’s done to deserve it.
“None of us like working there. Those machines haven’t been replaced in years. If I wasn’t here, one malfunction would probably do me in anyway.”
“And the factory supervisor is an asshole,” adds Velvereen.
Then why do you work there? she wonders.
Livia gets an answer before she voices the question.
“It’s not about enjoying it. It’s just survival. We do what we have to so there’s enough to support our families,” says Facet. His voice is even, but Livia recognizes the familiar hostility in his eyes yet again. Her heart sinks. She doesn’t know why it’s bothering her so much at this moment when she’s faced this same look plenty of times before. “But you’ve never needed to work, I take it?”
“I’ve shadowed my parents at the banks they run,” she defends.
It feels like a weak response, even as she says it.
Facet doesn’t add a response, but Livia can feel it regardless.
That’s not the same thing, he doesn’t say.
It’s true, though. She’s never had to worry about dying at the prospect of taking up the family business. She’s never had to consider it so many times that it can be spoken like a casual fact, an inevitability that has been accepted so readily that it could be admitted aloud as easily as Facet had done.
“Are your parents anything like you?”
It’s not a question that she’s ever had to answer, nor one that she’s ever been asked. Everyone knew who her parents were. Of course they did. Anyone worth knowing had wealth, and anyone with wealth had it managed at the Capitol banks.
“I…” Livia flounders over a reply. “I try to be like them.”
“So they’re the type to sit around with some District kids over sandwiches?”
“No, they—” she starts, before she realizes that Facet was making a joke.
Velvereen stifles a laugh behind her hand.
Her parents would never be caught here, not like the crowds that were gawking at the bars around her. No, they were much more respectable than that. They would be able to view the tributes just fine from their home, viewing any updates from the television when a recap would be broadcasted from Capitol News. Livia doubted she would be here, if not for the mentorship assignment. She certainly hadn’t been this engaged before.
“What are your parents like then?” counters Livia.
“My mom’s a…fashion designer. She makes clothes for me and my siblings.”
Livia hadn’t given thought to the family that Facet had back in District One. He had parents, of course, since everyone did, but she hadn’t stopped to consider anything else beyond that. She hadn’t needed to. Knowing wouldn’t help her make strategies or help him in the Arena. Livia doesn’t know what prompts her to ask: “Siblings?”
“I have a brother and sister; both younger. Do you have any?”
Livia shakes her head. “Only child. It’s just myself and my parents.”
Her gaze drifts over to Velvereen, who adds: “Just one older brother.”
“What’s that like?” she asks. “Having siblings, I mean.”
Facet chips in with a story about his sister being a ‘lovable menace’ when she had taken to wearing Facet’s clothes, despite them being much too big for her. Velvereen mentions that her brother had worked at the factory that she was currently at, but was transferred to a different location last year, so they could only talk by call and the letters that he sent with the money he made.
Conversation flows surprisingly easily from there.
Why couldn’t it have been this straightforward at all times?
What was different now that was making Facet more amiable?
Treating him like a person might be a start.
Livia shakes the thought away.
She doesn’t want to be thinking of Plinth right now.
“That sounds really nice,” she tells them. Livia can’t imagine being able to tell the stories of the sort of trouble that she’s gotten up to with her friends when she was younger to her parents. It might have been nice to have a sibling that she could talk to like that, someone that understood in a way that friends can’t, simply because they weren’t sharing that experience.
Livia finds herself talking about one time with Persephone and Arachne, a few summers ago. Festus had dragged all three of them to the pool with the ‘promise’ that it was just to meet up with a few others. ‘Just hanging about,’ he had said, so there was no need to bring swimwear. Except he’d pushed Persephone into the pool for the laughs, and Arachne had sent him sprawling into the pool moments after in retribution for their now-drenched friend.
She isn’t quite sure what had pushed her to share some of her own experiences with them. This isn’t strategizing. This isn’t going to benefit Facet in the Arena. But it is what she finds herself doing until she realizes that the entire afternoon has slipped by and she really should be going. She’s been here for hours. It’s getting late.
“I’ll be back later,” Livia tells them, as she bids them goodbye.
“See you then, I suppose.”
“See you,” she says, and thinks she might actually be looking forward to it.
Livia returns home to get rest. When she wakes, it’s at a desk.
Her mentor station at Heavensbee Hall. She shakes herself awake and looks to the smaller screens. Facet is one of the remaining nine tributes that are still alive. It’s him, Festus and Persephone’s pair from Four, plus the boy from Ten, Clemensia’s tribute, both from Twelve, and both from Seven. Though, it doesn’t look like Pup’s tribute is going to make it much further with the way she’s getting cornered by the District Four tributes.
Lamina dies the same way she had in previous times.
Velvereen must already be dead. Was it still from attempting to escape? It’s all starting to blur together. Livia had just seen her earlier, from what felt like minutes ago, having a conversation with the enclosure bars between them. Facet shows up on the larger screen as Festus’s tribute takes note of him. There is not enough funds to send him anything. He has no weapons. Livia knows how this ends.
She knows how this ends, yet it’s more difficult to watch that trident pierce him in the chest this time around. It’s over with a buzzer. It feels inadequate. Livia wonders if his younger siblings will have to bury his bloodied body. She blinks; the scene doesn’t change. She’s still at the mentor station. Facet is dead. Would his body even be sent back to One? Arachne’s tribute certainly hadn’t been. Facet had been put behind a horse during those times when he’d tried to escape. She hadn’t cared to find out what they’d done with him after the Ring twins’ funeral.
What happened to the tributes that died in the Arena?
Livia doesn’t know. It’s a disturbing mystery.
“Down goes the boy from One!” says Lucky Flickerman. There’s a microphone in her face that she startles at. “Let’s get some insight from…”
“Livia,” she fills in. “Facet performed—well, three on one is hardly fair.”
“He did manage eighth,” Flickerman says commiseratingly. “But now it’s time to say goodbye. Goodbye Fabric, and goodbye to you, Miss Livia.”
“It’s Facet,” corrects Livia, and leaves quickly.
I told you her name was Velvereen.
Facet had sounded so upset when Livia had gotten it wrong.
She wanders out of Heavensbee Hall and into the sun. Then, she’s back at the zoo enclosure where the tributes are more sparse than the start. Not the first day then. Velvereen isn’t anywhere to be seen. It must be the aftermath of the Arena bombing.
Facet doesn’t look pleased to see her. “What now?”
“I…” Livia begins. She searches for what to say for several seconds. “I’m sorry.”
“You’re sorry,” he echoes. “For what?”
What are you apologizing for?
“For Velvereen. She didn’t deserve to die like that.”
Livia doesn’t know when she started to feel guilty about Velvereen being shot. She’d tried to run, after all. She’d be alive if she hadn’t tried to run. But it didn’t matter, did it? If she was shot, or if she died in the Arena so Facet could be the Victor. Velvereen’s older brother would not be seeing her again. Not alive.
“No, she didn’t.”
There isn’t much to add.
Silence persists for several moments before Livia breaks it.
“What would it have taken for you to trust me at the beginning?”
“Trust?” he says incredulously.
“What can I do to show I care?”
Facet searches her face. She expects hostility, and it bothers her that facing that hostility right now might make her more saddened than angered. His opinion about her shouldn’t mean anything. He’s District, that was all. (Except he’s also a boy who goes to school and works to make ends meet to put food on the plates of his younger brother and sister and he likes cooking even though food isn’t always available to him and—)
“Prove it,” he says.
How? she thinks. How is she supposed to do that?
It’s easier to agree to than accomplish.