Chapter Text
“What?” Fulvia gasped. “Is she going to be ok?” This wasn’t gossip…this was a tragedy! Crispus crossed his arms.
“What happened?” He demanded. Plutarch shook his head and then glanced at the cameras. Crispus followed his eye line and then nodded. “Can you guys help me review some of the proofs from this morning?” Fulvia opened her mouth to reply that they had just shot the proofs, and no one alive could edit raw images that quickly. They would need to Photoshop a few of the men to ensure that everyone was as muscular as needed, and all of that took time.
“Yeah,” Plutarch replied.
“Come on then.” Crispus pulled the two of them into a janitor's closet. Fulvia side-stepped the mop on the floor. Hopefully, the chemicals wouldn’t damage her shoes.
“Ok, so. This is all a rumor, so take none of it as fact.” He led. Crispus motioned with his hands.
“We know. Out with it.” He crossed his arms.
“His personal assistant told me he was at the hospital for a family emergency. So I checked the hospital admit logs,” Plutarch continued.
“Why do you have access to those?” Fulvia asked. Had he checked her mother’s records last summer? What an ass. Just when she was starting to tolerate him...
“Long story. I dated a girl, and she left her login on my tablet.”
“That feels illegal.” She replied.
“It’s a gray area,” Plutarch offered. Crispus snickered. Fulvia glared at him.
“This isn’t funny.” She replied. “I hate him, too, but the man’s child is in the hospital.” She turned to Crispus. “Can we plant a story to keep this out of the tabloids. He needs privacy.”
“I’m not sure that’ll be helpful here.” Crispus offered. Fulvia rolled her eyes. How could it not be helpful here? Crispus paused and looked to Plutarch. “Do we…do we think?”
“What else could it be?” Plutarch asked. Fulvia paused. Surely they weren’t implying? No. They couldn’t. Even thinking it felt like treason.
“Choose your next words carefully.” She warned. Plutarch shifted his weight. Crispus crossed his arms.
“This is new. The great Plutarch Heavensbee with nothing to say?” He smirked. Plutarch exhaled. Fulvia exhaled slowly. She thought back to the August day atop the training center. Crispus had theorized that the president would frame Charlemagne’s elevation as a promotion before orchestrating a very public downfall. They might be entering stage two.
“Look. I don’t know any more than you. I know that the president promised retribution on Charlemagne, and I know that he can’t get it yet. Now the youngest Royage girl is in the hospital?”
“President Snow wouldn’t kill an innocent child!” Fulvia sputtered. These had to be unrelated incidents. But something inside her whispered that there was no such thing as coincidence. She took a breath. Yes, she knew the rumors. Every Capitol socialite did. Failure of those at the highest level wouldn’t be tolerated. People were given the chance to resign with dignity, but if they refused, someone needed to take action. And President Snow didn’t want to hurt anyone. They gave him no choice. She swallowed. There had to be another explanation!
“Fulvia, we kill 23 innocent kids every year on orders of President Snow.” Crispus offered. He sounded exhausted. Fulvia gasped.
“That’s different! They’re tributes!” The treaty of treason dictated it! It was so different. Why couldn’t Crispus see that? What was he even saying?
“They’re teenagers!” Crispus replied. He sounded frustrated.
“Actually, the 12-year-olds aren’t even teens. They’re tweens.” Plutarch weighed in. Fulvia and Crispus pivoted towards him. He nodded. “That’s not helpful right now. I see that.”
“Whatever,” Fulvia replied. “Let’s submit the proofs for approval, and then we can eat.” The others nodded. Crispus and Plutarch were weird, she knew that. But she couldn’t lose focus. They needed to work together to protect their departments from Charlemagne.
It took another few hours, but finally, Haymitch stumbled off the set after Crispus announced he was good. Fulvia thought it was a nice touch that so many of the younger victors came out to support him. Maybe someone would sober him up and get Chaff away from him. The man was clearly a bad influence. Victoria handed Haymitch a drink of something clear, and he took it like a shot. Maybe they were all bad influences on each other. It was like Crispus said, what can you expect from someone who earned a lifetime’s worth of money at the age of 16?
Time really was flying. It felt like just yesterday, Fulvia had been a junior on staff staring at Maeve and the victors with stars in her eyes, and now she got to talk to them. Life was amazing. Charlemagne couldn’t take this from her. The thought instantly made her feel guilty. His kid was in the hospital. She needed to be kinder. Fulvia cheered with the others as they finished. Crispus used his forearm strength to boost himself up so he stood on one of the chairs. Fulvia stopped cheering. It was impressive- she had no idea he was so graceful. Plutarch shook his head.
“Great work, everyone. I’ll confirm who we need for the reshoots, but most of you'll be heading home tomorrow. I’ll also let you know who's invited to the presidential palace for the victory tour party, too.” There was some good-natured cheering from the victors. Fulvia let herself exhale. She submitted more proofs to Charlemagne for his approval. Maybe his assistant would take care of it? The man should be with his family right now.
Plutarch invited her and Crispus back to his place while they waited for the final all clear. The Heavensbee manor was one of the few mansions Fulvia had never been inside. She'd seen a few of the gardens and everyone knew about the famous Heavensbee Greenhouse, but Plutarch had a reputation for being a recluse among high society. He attended parties often enough, but he just never threw them. Crispus seemed unfazed by the generations of Heavensbee portraits blinking down on them from vaulted walls and stained glass windows. Fulvia wondered if he’d been here before.
Fulvia gasped when she saw the library. Shelves towered up to the ceiling with deep leather couches and dark green plants scattered about. A soft fire crackled beneath a dark wood mantle. A grand piano sat off to the side, along with some longer tables like Fulvia remembered from University. Plutarch smiled at her as she took it all in.
“My great-grandfather’s legacy. I don’t know how they kept it all through the war.”
“It’s…” Fulvia was at a loss for words. These books couldn’t all be real. Surely some of them were fake. She touched one of the spines uncertainly. Crispus popped behind the bar and pulled out a bottle of something.
“Nightcap?”
“I’m good for now,” Plutarch replied. Fulvia ignored him. Plutarch dropped onto the couch. Fulvia heard the clinking of glass on glass, and then Crispus joined him. Fulvia tore herself away from the books.
“Have you read all of these?” She asked. He couldn’t have. There was no way. Plutarch shrugged.
“Some. Don’t have as much time for it as I’d like.” Fulvia nodded. He was so pretentious. “I used to bring a book for the ride out to Twelve when I was on their camera crew, but it became impossible once I moved over to Gaia’s staff.” Fulvia nodded.
“My camera crew assignment was One,” She replied. “Not much time for anything else on the train other than being nervous.” She smiled at the memories of spiraling out on the rides back from the Reapings in One as they scrambled to assemble a video package. Plutarch nodded. Crispus sipped his drink. He’d done his camera duty in Four? Or maybe Crispus had skipped camera crew duties. He usually got lucky like that.
“Sorry for what I said earlier.” Crispus raised suddenly. He looked over to Fulvia. “I shouldn’t have spoken about your family that way.” Fulvia made a face. President Snow was her Uncle, yes, but was he family?
“It’s alright.” She replied quickly. “We have…intense jobs, and sometimes that manifests in our words.” She picked at her nails. Plutarch sat quietly. Crispus slapped his leg.
“I say we give it an hour before we just tell all of the victors to go home tomorrow. We got our shots, and Photoshop can do the rest. Plus its not like Charlemagne can really tell us anything else right now.” Just as he spoke, their datapads buzzed. Fulvia grabbed hers.
“You cursed us.” She commented as she opened the reply from Charlemagne. Why was he working right now? He could have easily delegated this to an assistant. She furrowed her brow. “What the fuck. He wants reshoots on half the Victors?” Plutarch got up and made himself a drink. He threw back a shot of a purple liquid and then grabbed his datapad.
“He just wrote ‘no.’” Crispus scanned through his own data pad. “Fuck. He even CC’d the stylists.” Plutarch’s sudden laugh caught them both off guard. They glared at him.
“Sorry. He told the stylists their visions were ‘flawed.’ That’s a little funny.”
“It’s going to make enemies out of the stylists.” Fulvia weighed in. She stood up and headed for the bar. She was going to need something to take the edge off this. Plutarch offered her the purple bottle. Fulvia didn’t recognize the label, but she took a swig anyway. She kept reading.
“Someone from his team will bring new costumes tomorrow.” She read aloud, and then her jaw dropped. “Gamemakers Heavensbee, Cardew, and Ravinstill are excused from the shoot. Gamemaker Laurentio will be running it in my absence.’ Can he do this?”
“He has carte blanche privileges,” Plutarch replied. “Who needs a reshoot?”
“Literally all of the women.” Crispus tossed his data pad to the side and brought his forehead to his palms. “And he’s blocked Maeve in for a huge time slot. Fuck.” Plutarch crossed his arms. The silence in the room was heavy. Fulvia picked at one of her nails. She’d need to get them redone soon. Her stomach hurt. She should reduce her coffee consumption; the caffeine was giving her stomach pains. Charlemagne clearly hadn’t learned anything from what he’d put Maeve through last year, and he seemed intent on pulling the victor down with him. Her pants were cutting into her stomach. That must be why her stomach hurt. That or the caffine.
“Well. We can use the extra time to finish tour logistics, talking points…really, there’s a lot to do.” Plutarch whispered as he clenched a fist on his knee and then relaxed it slowly. “I know we don’t like it but,” Fulvia picked at her nails again. This was fucked. There was no other word for it. Could she go to President Snow? No, he couldn’t care about this because it didn’t directly threaten the Games, and then there would just be more eyes on them. She closed her eyes and leaned back.
“Laurentio has no idea how to run a photoshoot,” Fulvia stated quietly. He was an engineer. What was Charlemagne thinking? An idea was in the base of her mind. What was she suggesting? “We should offer to help him.” Who was we? Crispus lifted his head up.
“Fulvia, I knew you had some rule breaker in you.” He smiled.