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Johanna learns there's a lot of usefulness in knowing Cashmere. She knows which stylist to go to to get her hair to settle into a more natural-looking blonde, and she knows a guy… a sort of Victor Relations sort of person, one of the people who sets up the dates they have with Capitolite clients. It feels amazing, after all this time, to have someone to talk to, to tell that she's afraid to meet a certain client, that she can't see two people in a night and so on, and even better that she seems to now have enough Capitol clout that he respects almost all of her wishes.
In return, she gets Blight to send the best District 7 tobacco. It turns out that Cashmere loves it, and Johanna has the cash to burn, so she might as well keep Cash happy and put a little money back into the economy of her home District. Because of this, and because of her more intimate relationship with Enobaria, she finds herself dreading staying in the Capitol less than she had last year. What was there in District 7 but an empty house and two depressed old men? At least she has friends here, things to do. Or at least, she tries to tell herself this, again and again, because if she doesn't she'll just remember that she's doing this for Finnick, who gets to go home to see his precious girlfriend.
He had come to see her, once more, before leaving. She had thought maybe they'd talk, or maybe he'd tell her he'd gone to Snow again. But instead he'd said that he'd heard she'd gotten into a fight with June which wasn't exactly true but it was true enough, and then she'd gotten into a fight with him too.
She feels badly about June. She wanted to explain, but how could she? Who was she to explain all of Finnick's business, and besides… June knew about the other thing… about the sex, but no one asked it of her. She had a beautiful voice, and was constantly called to sing at fancy Capitol functions. Johanna liked her well enough, but it wasn't the same.
She's poring over this for the hundredth time in a month when Enobaria knocks at her apartment door. It's past midnight, like it usually is when she comes by, and Johanna is still wide awake. She lets Enobaria in, and Enobaria makes her way to the kitchen, reheating some leftovers Johanna had in the fridge. They're comfortable with each other now. Enobaria comes to the living room a minute later, sitting on the couch to eat the food. "I'm starving," she says.
"I saved that for you, I know you like the spicy one."
"Did you eat?"
Johanna nods. "Earlier, yes."
It's easier to eat in the Capitol now that she's used to being here, now that she's not nervous about everything she's doing and everyone she's interacting with. But the morphling kills her appetite, and her sleep schedule is terrible, and she does forget from time to time, so it is a fair question to ask.
"I watched your show tonight," Enobaria says, pausing between bites.
Johanna reaches behind the chair she's perched in to grab a bottle of wine she's got propped on the windowsill. Enobaria's been over to her apartment enough times that she doesn't bother trying to straighten up anymore, Enobaria seems to have accepted that she's just someone who lives in a bit of clutter. But Enobaria accepts the wine with a smile, uncorking the-half-empty bottle with her hand before taking a swig straight from it.
Johanna is a little embarrassed that Enobaria has been watching her game show, but she can't say that she's never watched Enobaria read the news. It was nice to watch Enobaria's pretty, calm face reassure her that nothing is wrong, that the weather will be pleasant, and tell her heartwarming stories about cute animals or interesting happenings in the Capitol. She understands the vision, really. It's not reality, but it's a nice escape. "Yeah, I was surprised they green-lit the idea," she says, rolling her eyes a bit.
Her idea for the new season of the show had been a segment to involve the Districts, since the new order from the top was to broadcast it nationally this year. 'Philanthropy Friday' was born, and each Friday this year, the winner of her game can spin a wheel, and a matching donation of their prize will go to the District it lands on. It's not perfect, since District 12 could use funds more than District 1, and well… she can't control exactly how this money is used, but it was almost impossibly difficult to get the Capitol to send anything to the Districts, so she'll take what she can get.
"I think it's good," her producer had said. "Like a little Hunger Games every Friday." This, at least, had cast doubt in Johanna's mind, but she tried to erase it by telling herself that doing something was better than nothing, right?
"I can't believe you'll be on national television," Enobaria says. "That's like, Caesar Flickerman status."
Johanna moves to the couch, taking the bottle of wine from Enobaria, taking a sip herself. She's not much for wine, disliking the warm feeling it caused in her chest, but she likes Enobaria, so the things Enobaria likes have a certain appeal. "Who would have thought they'd put me on national television before Finnick, or Cash?" she asks, sighing. The thought is terrifying.
Enobaria pulls Johanna close to her, Johanna's back against her chest. It's nice, to be held against Enobaria like this, to feel reassurance in a physical way. Enobaria kisses the top of her head, her grip staying tight. "You know why." she says, her voice low, calm. Johanna can tell she's anxious about it, too, but trying to project calmness. She reaches up to hold Enobaria's arms against herself more tightly.
"Because I'm disposable? Can't risk the favorites?" she guesses.
Enobaria scoffs, and Johanna knows she's annoyed. She can't help it, though. Everything the Capitol has every done has shown her that this is the case. There are Victors who are preferred, and there are those who come after. "It's because you're relatable. They want someone in the middle. A little bit of the glamour of the Capitol, but from an outer district. An equalizer, or well, the illusion of one."
Johanna considers this. She is being used to keep everyone calm, a new shiny Capitol distraction shown year round. Pretty, but not beautiful like Cashmere. Polite, but not overly kind and funny like Finnick. Just enough to have them waiting for the Games, to have them hoping for their District on the wheel. She wonders if such an obvious trick will work. "What do I do?" she asks. She's staring outward, into the apartment, but she wants Enobaria to tell her. She pushes back against her more firmly.
"Do your job and do it well," Enobaria says. "The worst thing is if it goes badly right from the start. I think they wouldn't hesitate to kill you."
It's winter when Enobaria gets pulled aside after her nightly news session, a Peacekeeper with a digital scroll asking her to come with him. He pulls her into a private room, pulls up a document on the scroll: a release order for her brother.
"Do you want to receive him from the prison?" the guard asks. "You can accompany him to the train station back to District 2."
"Yes! Yes, please take me there."
She says yes enthusiastically, but her enthusiasm fades as the Peacekeeper takes her first to an armory-type building on the edge of the central district, then down an elevator, then down a series of corridors, until they finally arrive at an entrance where he swipes a badge. "Wait here," he says, and she does, terrified as she hears a shriek from the inside.
She waits alone, in silence for over ten minutes, with just a flashing fluorescent light illuminating the bare, whitewashed stone hallway. She thinks she sees a bloodstain on the floor. She wonders if she could find her way out if the Peacekeeper never came back and doubts it. After a couple minutes she sees the camera, watching her from a shadowed corner.
But eventually the door opens again, and the Peacekeeper returns with a man she presumes to be Tullus, but she doesn't recognize him, not at all.
Her brother was thin before, but now he is skin and bones. He's wearing some sort of sleeveless shirt and linen pants that are all but falling off of him. His hair is frizzy and natural, left to grow out in matted tufts. And his skin looks sallow and dry, as if he hasn't seen the sun in all the time he's been imprisoned, and perhaps not allowed any basic hygiene in some time either. There is a stench coming off of him, but she ignores this.
"Tullus?" she says, tentative.
"Baria?" He looks at her, barely, as if nervous to do the wrong thing. He looks as if he might collapse just from standing.
"Let's get you out of here," she says.
The Peacekeeper leads them out as she helps him, letting him lean on her, reassuring him that it really is over, that he is going home. He doesn't seem to believe her, constantly glancing behind him, or making odd, startled noises. She has no idea what was done to him in the prison, but she is terrified to find out. She's ashamed that she never really thought about it: she had maybe imagined him sitting in a cell or working on a farm, but this reality was far, far worse. This wasn't her brother anymore, this was a ghost.
When they go up the elevator, into the evening light, he shrinks back. She walks him out slowly, whispering to him that it is alright the whole time. "Please, can I just take him back to my apartment for a few hours? Just to change clothes and shower? How can you ask him to go on the train like this?" she asks the Peacekeeper.
But he is unrelenting. "His probation begins immediately, and he is not to set foot in the Capitol. He must exit immediately."
Enobaria calls for a cab to spare Tullus the humiliation and effort of walking through the Capitol, even though it will shorten their time together. The Peacekeeper rides up front with the driver.
Tullus' jaw is stiff, and he doesn't speak for the car ride. She imagines he's bracing himself to see his wife and daughters after 18 months. "I love you," she tells him. She thinks he tears up.
And then she sees him off, and it's stupid, how the Peacekeeper timed his release with the train schedule, so she'd have no time to sit with him waiting, no time to help pick through his hair and fix some of the mats before he headed home, no time to even buy him some water and a meal for the trip. It's cruelty all the way through, and she wants to throw the Peacekeeper into whatever cell they had been holding her brother in by the time the train pulls away.
But of course, none of that is possible. The Peacekeeper, mission accomplished, goes on his way, and Enobaria is left alone to ponder what just happened. But then, walking home, another thought occurs to her. She had been working extra, staying in the Capitol and reading the news as atonement for Tullus's crimes. Now that he is free, could she not return as well?
She poses the question to Cashmere as they eat dinner on the rooftop of the Training Center that night. "I was only here because of Tullus. Isn't my contract over?"
"No ambition," Cashmere says in a mocking tone, but Enobaria knows she's joking. Cashmere understands how much she wants to get home, and how much she truly doesn't care about becoming famous in the Capitol. "I don't know. I can ask Callie to look into it, if you want?"
One of the downsides of Enobaria's lack of ambition is that she never hired a manager, so she had no one to step in for issues like this. Cashmere offering hers was a nice gesture. "Sure, thanks."
But she hears nothing for a few days, which isn't unexpected as Calpurnia had her hands full with Cashmere's near-endless schedule. Enobaria does her duties: reading the news, taking clients, and keeps to her normal routine: going to the gym, eating a couple good meals, trying to get a decent night's sleep. She ignores two calls from her mother, afraid of what she'll say, since she's sure the phones are bugged.
It's the fifth day after she talks to Cashmere that she returns to her apartment to the distinct smell of roses. It sets her on edge. She knows it to be Snow's scent from the times she's had to shake his hand or stand near him. Heart racing, she prepares herself for something terrible, imagining horrible images: a picture of her family in a terrible accident, a set of handcuffs inviting her to that same jail cell, Johanna's dead body on her floor.
But all she sees in her clean, almost spartan apartment is a note and a photograph, set carefully on her kitchen counter. Hands shaking, she approaches them, carefully picking up the photo first.
It's a picture of her and Johanna, taken in a club, she thinks, and it's more than incriminating. She has Jo pressed against a wall, her lips on Johanna's neck, Johanna's hands up the back of her shirt. The photograph can't see her own hands, and she's glad of that.
She picks up the note. "I received your request to be relieved of your duties to read the news. Unfortunately, we do not have a replacement newscaster at this time, so your services remain necessary. Please continue to serve us well, for your sake, and hers."
Enobaria slides to the ground, leaving the note behind, as if perhaps by putting it out of sight she could actually distance herself from it. How could she not have learned? She feels stupid, or some emotion she can't name - embarrassed that she even let herself feel happiness, because she should have known it would get taken away.
Snow had found out about her brother's allegedly secret rebel activities with his information network, with his ability to get damning evidence on whoever he wants whenever he wants. She was living in the Capitol, in the goddamned Training Center - who's to say he doesn't have their apartments bugged with microphones or cameras? How she could have seen what happened to Tullus and let herself relax, even for a moment, she doesn't know.
But there's another feeling there too, something akin to anger, and it frightens her. Enobaria has made it this far by always falling in line, never pushing back, accepting the hand she is dealt. Anger leads to dissent, dissent leads to rebellion, rebellion leads to that horrible underground prison, to torture, to death. She wants to survive, and so she complies, as much as it causes little wounds, a death of spirit. It's been a sacrifice she's always been willing to make.
But now she can feel the sense of injustice growing, the gnawing, painful realization that she isn't yet thirty years old, and this will be the rest of her life. If it isn't her brother, he'll threaten Johanna. If it isn't Johanna, it will be someone else, on and on forever, just so Enobaria will always do exactly as Snow desires. And if she missteps? Someone's life is forfeit.
She feels lightheaded, both from the threat, and from her own racing thoughts. She's never even considered joining the rebels, so now that the thought occurs to her for the first time, she's paranoid that someone will know the idea has occurred to her, that she'll be convicted of thought crimes on her kitchen floor. She needs time to settle, to consider her options. She's risking lives, including her own either way, she needs time to understand how she wants to proceed. She takes Snow's letter and burns it with her lighter, waiting until it's ash and then discarding it in the trash among food scraps. She keeps the photograph, tucking it in one of her drawers.