Chapter Text
She goes into the Arena without an official press nickname, as do most Tributes who fail to make an impression one way or another. Her own name already suits Wiress improbably well anyway, managing to elude to both her appearance and her interests. It's not a particularly rare or standout name in District Three but if Tryphena's attitude was typical, it apparently sounds exotic enough to appeal to the sensibilities of the Capitol—as if they will be paying her any attention?
It turns out they do.
She comes out of the Arena as Wiress Laplasse, 'The Livewire of District Three' who made a huge impression with her “shockingly” efficient use of unexpected items as deadly traps. By the time she received the sponsor's gift that cemented her win, the name had already caught on organically from an offhand remark Claudius Templesmith made about her being “quite the little livewire” during the on-air commentary. Of course, Wiress remains unaware of this nickname until after the Arena, though she didn't bat an eye when she saw the message from her mentor that came with the gift: “You've got this, Livewire!”
The day of her crowning ceremony starts out rather unceremoniously with Cris and Habs practically throwing her out of bed and into the shower, putting her through the wash-and-wax works before she can have even a bite of breakfast. Tryphena may have gone a little overboard with the 'electric' colors and 'wire' motif, Wiress thinks as she is zipped into the sleek dress made especially for her first official appearance as Victor. She's been in the stylist's chair for hours getting “remade” by the three of them and reviewing Poppy's notes at least a hundred times, even though she has them memorized by the sixth read. It does nothing for the pit in her stomach, but at least she has done everything she could to prepare. Tryphena beams as she fastens the finishing touch—Wiress's token made into a necklace—obviously pleased with her work. Poppy appears to escort her to the ceremony.
Once they arrive, they have only minutes before Poppy is required to join the other members of her team in their section, leaving Wiress backstage with only the program coordinators and her growing undercurrent of unease. She feels like she is outside of herself as she waits on wobbly heels for her introduction. It's a very disconcerting sensation that she can't quite describe, but it's been nagging her since she was released from the intensive care unit immediately after the Games, just simmering in the back of her mind until now, all at once it feels like it might boil over.
What is this? The flourescent false eyelashes in her field of vision are blurring into fuzzy colored clouds as she fights back tears. Why am I crying? A woman with an earpiece is saying something to her, but her head is swimming (or is that just the giant high-pony done up with wire so tightly that it's finally cutting off circulation to her brain?) and she can't make out the words. What's wrong with me? Her chest tightens and her heart pounds so hard that she can hear the blood rushing through her head and she can see her body actually quake with every pulse. “Did you not hear me? Your cue is coming up, dear! This way please!” the woman motions for her to follow, and suddenly Wiress has forgotten how to make her legs move. She opens her mouth but is horrified to find she can't form words or even scream for help. THERE'S SOMETHING WRONG! I CAN'T GET ENOUGH AIR! TURN AROUND! HELP ME!
“Wiress?” She is aware of a hand tentatively on her shoulder and then in the next moment she's being supported entirely.
“Careful!”
Beetee.
He's here. Her friend. He's standing beside her as he steadies her on her feet, and he must have realized she's not quite herself because he's looking very concerned as he leans in closer to her. “Are you all right?” his voice is low so only she can hear him, and Wiress manages to whisper, “Don't know…” “What's wrong?” She hasn't got time to explain—she doesn't even know if she could. She shakes her head, “Later.”
Whatever just happened must've actually lasted a minute or two at most because the earpiece-woman is only just noticing Wiress is not with her. Beetee informs her he's going to stay backstage with Wiress until her cue is called, and that seems to satisfy whatever it was she was coming toward them for because she nods and disappears down the hall. Minutes later Wiress is starting to calm down; she's breathing deeply and her heart has slowed a little. She assures Beetee she doesn't need anything when he asks again, insisting he still has a chance to join the ceremony if he hurries, but he remains with her in quiet support until it's time for her to go on. Their unspoken understanding is all they need between them.
She's doing somewhat better and the uneasy feeling has subsided. Beetee will be there to listen when this is over, if she wants to talk. She's careful not to trip in her stilettos as they make their way down the small corridor to the rising platform. Wiress gives him a hesitant glance, wishing he could come on stage with her, but the Earpieces and Muscles running the show won't allow it. Right before the fanfare sounds she feels that same comforting hand on her shoulder. “You've got this, Livewire.” She reaches up and gives his hand a squeeze. I've got this.
