/ˈmäksē/

Surya was so deep in her own mind and heart she was visibly taken aback by Moxie’s response. She hadn’t really thought much about any other people involved in this, but Lysander hadn’t been the only one there. It only made her single statement to the press more powerful, she imagined. “We aren’t going to know,” Surya muttered, tempted to cross her arms, but she saw the crowds gathering in the lobby. She had to watch her body language, so she clasped her hands behind her back. The dress she was wearing had a deep V at the back, exposing the smooth skin expertly mended by a Capitol doctor. No one ever really knew what happened behind closed doors and blank screens in the Capitol. “But we’ll be told soon, probably.”

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“I know,” Moxie spoke back, arms crossing to mirror Surya’s stance. She hated the concept of Surya every being supposedly correct about anything but she was in this case; there was truly nothing they could do other than wait. Waiting made Moxie feel powerless, like most other things in Panem. “I – just feel – I feel awful,” Moxie admitted, feeling as if she were in any way to blame.

Even she did not know anything, let alone someone without access to the sum of advisors around the President. Lara did not like this perspective of blindness, and, particularly, she did not enjoy admitting to defeat, to not knowing what was happening and about to happen from now on. But in the spur of the moment, and allowing herself a moment of softness because it was Moxie, she shrugged, disarmed and puppy. “I have never in my life, Moxie, been so confused,” she sighed, completely lost. “How do you feel?”

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“Me too,” Moxie murmured, giving as gentle of a smile as she could to Lara. It was a tenuous subject. Of course Lara would be some variety of surprised at all this – as if the violence would never touch the Capitol, would never sink its greedy hands into its residents. Moxie figured, if someone worked for the Hunger Games, it meant they were willing to make any kind of sacrifice, including their own lives. “It’s a lot – I – it feels weird that they’re continuing with everything, like it’s all normal,” Moxie spoke softly.

Ama shook her head from where she stood against the wall. She had no idea, and she assumed she wouldn’t know for a long time. She was certain Addy was safe - she worked for District Seven during the Games, not for Lysander. Unless she’d been given a special assignment, like Ama was last Games with that brute from District Four. No, she had to be certain Addy was safe. She had to be sure of it. She wouldn’t let herself go down that path. She’d never come back.

Have their been any news updates? Ama finally asked. There were too many people barking orders and shuffling around, and Ama hadn’t been able to keep up with the view screens, even the ones in the Avox corridors.

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Moxie scrambled for her phone with her free hand, grasping at the device in her bag as she finally pulled it free she scanned her messages, scanned her news applications; nothing so much nothing – people who were in the hospital, people who were dead but it was an incomplete list. Moxie shook her head dully, no info. “I wish – I was worried you’d maybe...” Her brow began to knit together further as she expressed her worries, “You’re okay?”

Surya retreated back inside quickly. Her declaration, brief and heartfelt, could have been too easily muddled by too much talk. She left it at that, and made sure to flick the swinging door of the lobby shut behind her when a photographer tried to chase after her for more comment. 

A friend had already died; she couldn’t have her two tributes dying, too. More people were moving now, gathering and rushing, as if there was really anything to do. The sound of Moxie’s voice was grating and comforting at once. There was perhaps no better comparison for Surya than a pumice stone. A pumice stone Surya was desperate to snap at, if only because it was a safe space to do so. “Are you enjoying the show?”

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The way Moxie took how Surya treated her normally was in stride; not allowing the tormenting to eat away at her because if she were the better person, Surya wouldn’t get a rise out of her. Moxie couldn’t contain herself this time, as she finally allowed herself to snap at Surya in a hushed voice, “No, of course I’m not, what’s wrong with you?” Moxie huffed and allowed her face to fall, ignoring the potential tremble threatening to shake at her lower lip. No. She was not going to cry in front of this woman. “I have friends who are on the Gamemaker team, the same as everyone else here,” Moxie defended, her brow knitting together, “So, excuse me for wanting to know if something happened to them.”

The silence that encapsulates the room feels deafening, and she can’t stand it, breaking the silence voice feeling shriller than she would’ve preferred but asking the important question, “Do we know who was there?” She thinks through who could even potentially be there; Chip. Addy worked for Lysander. Slate, Slate was his assistant – would he have...?

“Well,” she began uncertainly. “He doesn’t… he doesn’t really need to know. Who will know the difference if he’s not volunteering information anyways?” They could come up with something equal parts plausible, empathy invoking, and supportive of Cecil’s odds, she was sure of it.

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Moxie nodded along, following Hestia’s line of thinking, she had a point. What good would getting him on the same page do if he didn’t really need to know what people were saying about him outside the arena? Moxie straightened up and offered a plausible plan, “He has that whole kind of sensitive sweetheart on the outside thing going on for him, do you think that we could use that?” She hummed and tapped her fingers on the counter and gave another idea, “Or something about his life in Twelve, I’m sure we could come up with something about that would be fairly plausible, right?”

It was still infuriatingly vague, and she threw up her hands in irritation before shaking her head. “He’d better be hoping for a miracle to land in his lap, because trying to get sponsors to back that will be tough. It already is. Do you know how many sponsors have told me they’ll get back to me? That’s the kiss of death.” She didn’t want to reduce Cecil down to that, of course, but this was his life at stake. They needed something, anything to work with if he wanted to come home.

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“No, I know Hes,” Moxie groaned screwing her eyes shut. She raked her hands over her face, unsure where to even go in her exasperation. “Don’t even talk to me about sponsors right now,” She joked, “It’s like they don’t even want to talk about him because he’s not one of the tributes from Thirteen and we can’t just suddenly make him be from Thirteen.”

“Sis is about three months old. She’ll like anything,” Leander narrowed his eyes. “What do you mean, those people?” He was tinged with confusion now. “We are those people, Mox.”

“No – I –” Moxie allowed herself to start, frustration, exhaustion – who knows what to take hold of her response for a moment. She deeply inhaled, attempting to shove back down the part of her that wanted to snap at Leander away; that wouldn’t give them any time off. “They’re so fake,” Moxie spoke, her voice falling flat, the usual joy sucked out of it, “And they think horrible things and they do horrible things and advocate for things that are totally inexcusable and I don’t know if I want people like that to care for our daughter. Even if she’s just a baby.”

“You’re a good person, you’re not – I don’t think you’re like that at the very least,” Moxie spoke softly, eyes screwing shut. “I just think there’s a lot of people who could make her grow up to be a horrible person.”

“What did he tell you?” she asked immediately, interest no longer so casual. She agreed, of course about the allies part. Cecil had remained such a mystery to her, it was starting to bother her. Usually she could get tributes to open up, but Cecil was a challenge. How had Moxie done it?

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“He gave me two versions,” Moxie clarified giving an almost grim smile. “He was talking about how – he’s an ‘ambitious go-getter’.” She let out a brief snort of laughter, ducking her head back down to the bowl on the counter, lamely mixing. “The real version – or at least the more authentic version, he gave me he mostly said, that he was ‘just Cecil’ and that if he died, he said he’d go out knowing he was the best version of himself he could be – and I don’t know if he believes that or...” Moxie muttered shaking her head.

His eyes widened the slightest bit. “Are you crazy?” He genuinely asked. “Seraphina Hilt is like ten, and you’re gonna trust her with our kid? We’re in the Capitol, Mox, we can find a good babysitter who doesn’t still have her own.” Perhaps he was a bit mean in saying this. He didn’t really know Seraphina beyond her status as a victor and resident youngster alongside Cain. Nemesis’ safety went beyond anything though, in his eyes. 

“We’ve had more abrasive,” she pointed out, leaning against the counter, chewing on the inside of her lip. Moxie was, of course, right. But sugar didn’t guarantee sponsors either, right? “Sponsors can go for abrasive. But I think he’s… he’s very private, that’s what I’m more worried about. If he doesn’t let Panem in a little, or at least doesn’t make up a good enough story about himself, he’s going to be left behind.” Could they come up with a story for him in the moment if things went poorly in the Arena? Could they get him in on it before he departed?

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Moxie couldn’t help but let her brows melt down into a look of worry as she spoke, “That’s what I’m worried about too.” She cast a glance down to her bowl, a sigh falling out of her mouth, stirring the mixture faster, “I got him to give me something, but he didn’t like that he had to have a story and – I don’t know I’m worried he won’t be likable and I told him that but –” Moxie set the bowl down, not allowing herself to take her frustrations out on the batter. She turned to face Hestia again, hands clapping together as she began, “I feel like he’s going to go in alone, which also might not be a good idea – I think if he had any allies, that he might be able to use their charm to his advantage or - or something. He’s definitely smart enough to at least understand that, right?”

Poor Moxie. He didn’t think bleeding hearts faired well in the Capitol, but yet she still tried. With both Slate and the district escort, he thought it was a miracle that neither of them had been found out. He pictured Sera and Hestia getting caught in the crosshairs and the thought of it left a bad taste in his mouth. As if Twelve could deal with any more conspirators after the Everdeens. “This goes without saying, but you need to be more careful. What do you think is going to happen to the rest of us if they hear you talking like that?”

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“I know I do, but this is me showing that I trust you,” Moxie spoke carefully, giving a smile, albeit a bit tense of one. She knew it was a risk, ignoring any self preservation, but she wanted Cecil to win. Twelve needed a win so badly, not even for any personal gain Moxie wanted to impart onto the world but – District Twelve needed a morale boost. “Hopefully nothing, I’d take the fall because it’d be the right thing to do – let you all throw me under the bus and call me crazy.”

That surprised Cecil and the look on his face said as much. He was convinced that a Capitolite, and an escort at that, would ever bad-mouth the Games, even if it did seem a bit tame for his standards. It was as if she could almost relate.

As she spoke, Cecil listened carefully. What did she have to gain by being here if she didn’t believe in the Games? Moxie could have lived a million other lives outside of the tower and yet she chose this? Cecil was skeptical to say the least. His loyalties were strictly dedicated to himself, but he couldn’t say for certain where hers lied. “Why are you here then? If you know better then why are you doing any of this?”

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“Because it’s how I know how to help,” Moxie offered, almost lamely. It was all she had; nice clothing and even more ridiculous niceties. Moxie pressed her lips together firmly, searching for the correct things to say. For Cecil to at least admit there was something for her to know better meant that he carried some of the same sentiments. That was enough. “If I directly speak out against the Games, they’ll cut my tongue out and no one wants to believe an avox. It’s not how things go around here,” She explained releasing the clench in her jaw.