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Johanna is blonde. Well, maybe not completely, but she barely recognizes her reflection. The stylist has taken her medium-brown hair and added bright blonde highlights, enough that when her hair is in a ponytail or an updo now, it looks blonde. "If you're going to be on television, it's gotta be blonde," the stylist had said. She wants to protest, to say that Enobaria isn't blonde, but she knows there's no point. Enobaria has jet-black hair in beautiful braids, surrounding a model-perfect face. There was barely any work for Remake to do on her.
On Johanna, they're constantly trying to shade her jawline or extend her lashes or make her lips look larger, but she's not Cashmere, who is tall and tan and naturally blonde with all the facial features desired in the Capitol. Johanna doesn't want to be here, but she has to be, so Remake has to make it work. A game show. She almost laughs to think about it. They've given her a game show, as if she has any ability to entertain, to put people at ease, to act as a host.
Her first weeks in the Capitol after the Games end are a whir of media training, learning how to use the teleprompter, how to stop reacting every time one of the crew speaks into her earpiece, how to run the game, how to greet each guest with the correct level of politeness. They take her into the studio and show her her podium, where she'll store her notes, the little buttons she'll press for correct and incorrect answers, how to reveal the prizes. She barely recognizes herself when they film the test episode, bright and blonde and a little nervous, joking with the guests, revealing the answers on the light-up board behind her.
For the pilot, they dress her in a blue gown, her hair up with two strands framing her face. "Welcome to Capitol Gains!" she says, "I'm your host, Johanna Mason, and tonight, our contestants are all taxi drivers from here in the central district. Please give them a warm welcome!" The live audience cheers, and she takes a deep breath, sipping water in the break while the camera pans over the taxi drivers. It's surreal, being here, and just because of a deal she made for Finnick.
This was keeping Annie away from the Capitol. This was keeping Finnick safe and happy. By the time the taping ends, she thinks it really isn't so bad, except that her hands are trembling and her face hurts from the fake smile she's been wearing, but then one of the contestants comes by and she thinks he is going to shake her hand, or say goodbye or something, but his hand is on her lower back and he lowers his face to her ear. "I hope to see you again, maybe at the club," he says. His breath is bad.
There are crew around, techs and assistants of all sorts, but no one to usher him away. No one's job is wrangling the contestants or protecting the host, it seems, so she takes a step back herself. "Perhaps," is all she offers. "Excuse me."
There's no way back to the training center without calling for a taxi, but her hands are shaking more and more. She's changed back into her street clothes but it's hot now, at the end of summer, so she's not as covered up as she wishes she could be. The car that picks her up is the same as all the other cars in the Capitol, the driver the same as all the drivers. "Training Center?" he confirms. She nods.
And he drops her off without incident but still she can't calm down. She wants a sedative, but a drink will have to do, so she takes the elevator up to the lounge, the private one that only she and the other Victors can access. She almost turns away when she sees someone is there, but stays when she realizes it's Enobaria.
Johanna pours herself a drink, white liquor and soda. It's not her preferred taste, but since she's trying to get drunk, it'll get the job done as good as anything. The cup is shaking, or rather, her hands are still trembling. It makes her angry, feeling fear. It always has, in the Games, as a new Mentor, now. She wants to lash out, but the only person here is Enobaria, so she holds her tongue and drinks quickly.
Enobaria doesn't use any of the phrases she's come to expect from Finnick, like "whoa, slow down," or "hey, are you alright?" and the unfamiliarity is jarring. It just reminds her again that she shouldn't be here, that this is unplanned, a punishment, and she has to stay on edge every second to keep herself safe.
"Homesick?" Enobaria asks, at last, nodding to the white liquor. Johanna almost laughs at that. Like they would drink this swill in District 7. Enobaria is a little drunk, her District 2 accent more pronounced, and again the curtain is lifted, Johanna can see her as a real human, not just the strict, straight-backed Mentor who once tore out a man's throat with her teeth.
She shakes her head. "This is District 12 bullshit," she says. "Probably leftovers of Haymitch's supply. It's nasty, but it gets you drunk quickly."
Enobaria takes the bottle, first sniffing it, then taking a look at the label, and finally taking a small swig, straight. She winces, as Johanna knew she would, the taste astringent with a distinct licorice note. "That is foul!" she says, pushing it away with force. "You should try this instead, aged District 2 red wine." Then she seems to have an idea. She goes behind the bar, pulling out a different bottle of white liquor, this one a bit dusty. "We make this one in District 2, my father used to love it. I never got a taste for it, but it's better than that swill."
Johanna opens the new bottle and tries Enobaria's recommendation. Sampling liquor is more fun than talking about any of the thoughts in her head, at least. This liquor is just as strong, but the flavor is smoother, and she approves. Much easier to drink than the District 12 special. She makes herself a new drink with a couple shots, some soda, and lime, and sits down beside Enobaria. "Are you? Homesick, I mean."
Enobaria nods. "Of course." Her gaze looks distant for a moment, but then she seems to shut those thoughts away. "And I like my time away from the Capitol."
This Johanna could agree with, or at least, she thought she could. She liked the trees and the wide open spaces of District 7, at least hypothetically. But she found when she was home, she never really went outside. The months away from the Capitol were mostly spent sitting around at home, staying away from the town center, remembering to eat and change her clothes and stick to a normal sleeping schedule, and trying not to get too drunk or high during the long, cold winter. Lately, she'd begun to wonder if she really did like going home at all. Her family was dead, there was no one waiting for her, after all.
"Some people broke into my house, during the last Games," she says. It's the first sign that the alcohol is hitting her bloodstream, the fact that she's sharing this at all. Enobaria looks surprised.
"In the Victor's Village?"
She nods. "There's a third Victor in 7, Jackson, he stays back. He saw them, but what is he gonna do? They took from my place and from Blight's." She doesn't really blame them. No one had much of anything in District 7 lately, with the lack of work and the wildfires, so Victors with their stipends were probably easy targets. But it did make her fearful of her own neighbors.
"But you won the Games," Enobaria says, as if this settles things.
Johanna shrugs. It's just how it is in 7. "Jackson's pension is small because he doesn't do any Mentoring, but he can't get work in the District, it's like he's blacklisted. Llewelyn, another Victor, he killed himself when I was a kid. It's… they're not building a statue to us or anything," she says. She wonders if Enobaria heard about the golden trident that Finnick won the Games with being mounted in District 4, a memorial to his Victory.
Enobaria looks down as she takes another sip, the same kind of aversion Finnick had whenever he got too excited about seeing his family or going back to the ocean. "No, sorry, I didn't mean… if I had family to go home to and a District that wanted to see me, I would be homesick too." She scrambles, trying to recover. "I wasn't saying that to try to make you feel bad or whatever-"
Enobaria looks up again, a look of understanding on her face. "It's ok," she says. "It's a blessing and a curse when you have family back home." Johanna knew this was the truth, just more people for Snow to use against you. Enobaria leans back, resting her legs on the chair between them. She's wearing shorts, and her legs are dark brown and long and perfectly smooth and Johanna has to pull her gaze away.
"What is he having you do?" Johanna asks, her voice low but still conversational.
"You mean, besides sleeping with the rich and famous of the Capitol?" Enobaria asks, eyebrows raised a bit.
"Yeah, besides that."
She laughs a little, just a short mirthless exhalation out of her nose. "The news," she says.
"What?"
"I'm reading the Capitolites the news. And the weather report."
Now Johanna laughs. "Seriously? What is this?"
Enobaria shrugs. "They want to see a pretty face telling them everything will be alright," she says, in a mocking tone that had to be the words of the same director Johanna's been working with. "What about you?"
"Game show," she says, shaking her head in disbelief. "What do you think this is? Are the Capitolites on edge, or is there something I'm not picking up on?"
Enobaria sighs, finishing her glass of wine. "No idea. Makes me nervous, though. What if this becomes normal? What if you become a Mentor and you just… never go home?"
Enobaria can read the news. It isn't hard to adopt a pleasantly neutral face, read words off of a screen, and adjust to small changes on the fly. It's more or less an easier version of the kinds of tasks she faced in the Career Academy's media training courses. Here, she doesn't even need to think of any answers for herself. Everything from her hair and wardrobe to each word she speaks is decided for her, she's merely a puppet that delivers the news.
The hard part about staying in the Capitol between Games is certainly not the 'job' she's been given. It's more intangible. It's the bone-deep loneliness of missing her family and the red-dirt earth of District 2 and the stew and fry bread her mother would make. It's the terror of not knowing if her brother is still alive. It's the swallowing down part of herself that she has to do each time she sleeps with a client. And it's the complete inability to relax, because she has to balance political motives, Snow's spies, tense friendships, and tabloid gossip following her everywhere.
"Ha! Look at this one," Cashmere says, handing her a copy of a magazine folded open to a page about two-thirds of the way through. They're on the rooftop, Cashmere catching up on the tabloids and checking for a final printing of an advertisement she modeled for, and Enobaria under an umbrella trying to get rid of a hangover.
She scans the page Cashmere handed her, temples thudding. There's a picture of Johanna, two men and a woman beside her. The woman's arm is raised in victory, and confetti is raining down. "Capitol Gains Unexpected Hit!" reads the headline.
"Have you watched it?" she asks, curious.
Cashmere shakes her head, "No, never."
Enobaria wonders if there's more there, if Cashmere is worried about her youth, her beauty, her staying power in the Capitol. She needn't worry, she thinks, Johanna has absolutely no ambition, and by Capitol standards, she'll always fall short. But Cashmere is strange. She's always reaching, always certain that she's falling behind. "You look good in this one," she says instead, flipping back to the front.
Cashmere leans over to see which photo Enobaria has pointed out. "Oh, yeah, those did turn out good, in the end. The photographer was a total pervert, though, he wanted some nasty stuff in bed."
Enobaria's jaw falls open before she's ready to speak. "You slept with the photographer?" she asks, after a pause.
Cashmere snatches back the magazine, now cross, even though that's what Enobaria had been trying to avoid. She lowers her sunglasses just to glare. "You know as well as I do that we can't exactly say 'no'," she says, and Enobaria does. She's been hoping that she can just do her job at the news station and leave, but she knows it isn't that simple. And besides, her face on the nightly news signals to all of the Capitol that she is here, present, available. Soon enough, more and more people will come around to the bars, to the clubs, calling on favors for a night with that Victor they see when they turn their televisions on each evening.
"Yeah," she agrees. "Sorry."
By the time the seasons change and the weather gets cold, Enobaria has more or less settled into a pattern. It's miserable, but it's fine. She wakes up late, taking a few of the hangover-cure tabs that are readily available in the lounge, though she's taken to stockpiling them in her apartment. She'll have a meal, try to exercise in the gym, shower, and go to the station to read the evening news. Then, she's expected to be at the clubs most nights, so she tries to attend with Cashmere so she's not completely alone. About half of the nights, she's stuck going home with someone, and on these nights, she makes an effort to get drunk enough that she has a hard time remembering the details, but not drunk enough that she is too clumsy, or might vomit.
When she gets back to her apartment after one of these nights, she might shower again, if she feels completely disgusting, or eat again, if she doesn't, then try to chug some water and fall asleep. Sometimes it works. What she doesn't expect on this night is to get back and still be sitting on her kitchen floor an hour later, breathing too quickly, unable to eat or drink or stand to shower or change.
She should go to Cashmere, she thinks. Cash could help. They lay together sometimes, or they had in the past, the first few years after they became Mentors, just for some comfort. Cash would give her some sedatives and a bottle of water and a new set of pajamas and they could look out the wide window of the apartment at the people in the city still moving despite the early morning hour, or Cashmere could be annoyed at her intrusion. Cashmere needed her beauty sleep. Cashmere thought that she should have gotten over sleeping with the Capitolites by now.
She wonders if it's just her anxieties, piling on top of one another, that make her think that Cashmere wouldn't help her, but it's difficult to remain objective. She stands, grabbing her keys, and walks to the elevator, determined to stop sitting on her floor at least.
But she doesn't go to 1, she goes up to 4.
"Enobaria?" Johanna answers the door, more awake than Enobaria would have imagined, given the late hour. She's in an oversized T-shirt and shorts, both Capitol gym standard issue. She opens the door wider to let Enobaria in.
"I-" She doesn't know what to say, really.
Johanna takes in her appearance, the silky halter top and too-tight jeans, and Enobaria is sure she can surmise the rest. They both stand in the entryway, silent and still for a moment too long, until Johanna asks, "Are you hurt?"
Physically, she's fine. She isn't even sure why this client in particular set her off, there was nothing that set him apart. But inside she is burning, or drowning, or twisting herself up into knots, but how could she explain that? She shakes her head.
Johanna gives her a skeptical look, but retreats further into the apartment. "Come in," she says, nodding at the couch.
Enobaria does as she is told, sitting in the living room. She sees the water pipe on the coffee table, the rolling papers out on the counter, a half-eaten plate of dinner abandoned beside. The entire apartment is poorly taken care of, clothes strewn about and empty cans and bottles forgotten on various surfaces. Enobaria spots the morphling needle tucked under a newspaper just as Johanna returns to the room.
Johanna hands her a glass of water and a pair of shorts and a T-shirt. Enobaria drinks the water, maybe a little too quickly, but her mouth is too dry. "I- can I use your shower?" she asks. It's a stupid question. Her own shower is two minutes away, but she doesn't want to leave, at least not yet.
To her credit, Johanna nods, walking ahead of Enobaria to pull out fresh towels.
The shower feels good, warm and calming, and she remembers, like she does every time she gets around to getting in it, that it is almost medicinal. She knows that it's all in her head, but she can feel herself sloughing out the parts of herself that were touched by strangers, washing away the filth of the clubs and a stranger's bed. By the time she steps out, Enobaria feels at ease once again, like she's in control. She dries off and goes to change into the clothes Johanna brought. By the time she returns to the living room, Johanna has cleaned up some of the mess, the cans and bottles (and the morphling syringe) tucked somewhere out of sight.
"Sorry to disturb you so late," she says, and she means it.
Johanna shrugs. "I never sleep until later anyways." She comes to sit on the other end of the couch, facing Enobaria, knees pulled up. Her hair is half-up in a messy bun and it's cute. Enobaria realizes she likes this side of Johanna, with no makeup and a casual appearance. It feels like a private side of her that only a few are privy to. "You are alright now?" Johanna asks. She doesn't ask why Enobaria is here, but Enobaria assumes she can gather, more or less, the reasons.
Enobaria nods. "Just… lost it for a second. After my client."
Johanna gently tugs Enobaria's sleeve, and Enobaria gives in, letting herself be pulled back against Johanna's legs. Johanna runs her fingers through Enobaria's hair, her nails gently scraping down the parts between her braids. She continues along the back of Enobaria's neck and across the top of her shoulders. It feels good, tingling in her scalp and shivers down her arms. She switches to her finger pads, pushing up along Enobaria's neck and into the base of her skull. Enobaria's eyes slip closed.
"I used to do that for Fin, when he was really miserable," Johanna says. "He said it helped."
Enobaria wonders how much Johanna has done for Finnick, and how much she's ever gotten back. The thought returns to her that Johanna is here, right now, due to Finnick, and new anger blossoms, replacing her fear and panic. She doesn't want to talk about Finnick right now. "It feels good," she confirms. She breaks the contact to turn around, facing Johanna, trying to read her expression. She looks sad, as if realizing some truth about the nature of her relationship with Finnick, or perhaps she was just sad that Enobaria was here with her and not him.
Now angry, and maybe too daring, Enobaria decides to test things. She leans forward, almost crawling over Johanna on the couch, grabbing Johanna's jaw in one hand. She kisses her, more firmly than the first time, catching her bottom lip in her own lips, pulling her teeth across it gently. Johanna pauses for just a moment as Enobaria pulls away, but then she reaches up to snake her fingers into Enobaria's hair, pulling her back again. They kiss again and Enobaria can feel Johanna's tongue this time, and she is pulled closer, her body pressing against Johanna's.
"If you don't-" Enobaria says, unsure of what she's asking exactly.
"I want to," Johanna confirms. And so Enobaria stays, on the couch, on the bed, beside Johanna. It feels right, in a strange way, both of them trapped in the Capitol against their will. And it continues, more often once they get a feel for each other. She is careful not to be seen with Johanna too often, and only goes to her apartment after midnight, but it's a small comfort to have someone to sleep with, someone to talk to, someone to hold among the miseries of the eternal Capitol life.