DRESS, coriolanus snow

08, a night to remember.

DRESS
( cheers to the first of many )
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THE NEXT MORNING, Charlotte had been awoken bright and early for the Ring twins funeral. The pre-funeral coverage started at seven, and by nine the student body again filled the stairs in front of the Academy. To her surprise, they seemed to love Coriolanus' performance of the anthem as it was replayed in the funeral. She'd expected a video tape of his singing, but instead a hologram of him appeared behind the podium, and while it was a little watery at first, it settled into a clean, crisp image.

The Capitol doubled the efforts made for Arachne's funeral, which she felt appropriate for the twins. More speeches, more Peacekeepers, more banners. She didn't mind seeing the twins praised, even extravagantly, especially due to their humorous nature. The dead tribute count had escalated, with the two tributes from District 9 having died from their injuries. Apparently the veterinarian had done her best, but her repeated requests to admit them to the hospital had been refuses. She furrowed her eyebrows at this.

Their scarred bodies, along with the remains of the District 6 tributes were draped over the backs of horses and paraded down Scholar's Road. The two tributes from District 1 and the girl from District 2, as befitting their cowardly escape attempt, were dragged behind them. Then came a pair of those caged trucks she and Coriolanus had ridden in on his way to the zoo, one for the boys and one for the girls. She strained to see Wovey but couldn't locate her, which added to her worries. She imagined Wovey lying inert on the floor, overcame by injuries and hunger.

As the twins' matching silver coffins came into focus, all she could think about was the silly game they had made up on the play-ground during the war called Ring-around-the-Rings. The rest of the kids would chase down Didi and Pollo and then grab hands, forming a circle around them and trapping them. She could feel tears well up in her eyes as she recalled how hard they'd laugh, rolling around on the floor, without a care in the world. Oh, to be seven again, in a happy pile with her friends.

The day after the funeral, her Doctor and her parents had stopped by for her daily check up when he broke the good news.

"Well, seems you're recovering perfectly. So, I won't be a burden and allow you to go back home," her Doctor said, both her parents and her had a wide grin on their faces. "Just take it easy, yeah?"

She nodded enthusiastically, but all she felt like doing was jumping up and down around the room. She'd grown bored of the hospital walls and the bland food and the uncomfortable bed and the lack of activities she was restricted to. Her parents helped her back her bags, leaving her a sweater and jeans to change into.

Her parents had accompanied her home, but not before long did they leave for one of her father's business meetings. She spent the rest of her day napping, a side effect from the medication she'd been given. Though, she much enjoyed the drowsiness of the drug, since she spent almost every waking moment recalling the burning red flames that surrounded her, the tremble of the ground beneath them and the smell of the choking black smoke. She was brought back to the feeling of being stuck underneath a pillar, unable to move or breathe. The feeling of being completely helpless.

Wovey had been nibbling around the edges of her thoughts, but now was all she could think about. She wondered if she was safe, if she was healed, and more importantly if they were still feeding the tributes. It'd make sense if they stopped, since the Capitol believed it was a rebel bombing. Charlotte hadn't a chance to check on Wovey in the arena, beneath the rubble her delicate voice was most likely drowned out. Did anyone even find her?

"Miss Charlotte, may I come in?" the chef knocked in the midst of the silence, causing her to jump.

"Yes," she replied when he carefully opened the door.