#Even though everyone knew she would choose Peeta anyway.

[mariigoldzz]

I know the love triangle represented Katniss choosing between war and peace but like. I would have loved Gale and Katniss just being besties. Best friends who could tell each other everything.katniss would get home from the victory tour giggling and kicking her feet about Peeta with Gale nodding as he listens to her yap. Gale telling Katniss the tea that happened while she was away. Katniss watching her best friend slowly get radicalized and manipulated by Coin.

Katniss's best friend, who she could tell anything to, being the one who caused Prim's death in the end.

[ilguna]

Metanoia - Prevaricate (f.o)

Summary: you will be crowned victor of the 75th hunger games.

Word Count; 7.5k

Warnings; swearing

NOTES: i give reader a last name to fit the world.

a big thanks to the anon that gave me this idea!

–

“I wouldn’t if I were you.” one of the mentors warns Finnick, even going as far to try and grab him. 

Finnick brushes them off without a second blink. He gives his mentors a certain look to shut them up, and then he turns towards your direction. You stand next to the chariot, arms crossed with a mean scowl on your face. Your back is turned towards your friends, so it makes him curious about what had happened between the four of you.

Finnick heads in your direction, digging his index nail into his thumb. He stops beside you, a foot or two away as he waits for you to realize that he’s there. Only, you don’t see him, and it raises a little bit of irritation in his own mind. 

He went from such a good mood to sour in no time…

His eyes wander over your floral tattoos, resisting the urge to reach out and touch them. That won’t raise a good reaction from you, “So, was the outfit purposely designed to show off your tattoos, or was it all a coincidence?”

Once he sees your head turning, he tries to offer a nice smile, to try and be welcoming. Only to be met with those same glaring eyes that you were giving the horses. It’s not really a surprise, he shouldn’t expect your mood to lift just because you’re talking to someone.

He continues to dig his fingernail into his thumb.

You readjust your crossed arms, your hands forming into fists. Finnick resists the urge to make some sort of comment about it. About his presence being somewhat irritating for you or whatever.

“I can’t wait to add you to my graveyard, Odair.” you snap at him.

His eyes have wandered to your right arm--his left--to see the skulls. Black and white, and they’ve got a first and last name to each of them. He leans a little to get a better look, wondering if he’ll recognize any of them, “Is that so?” his eyes meet yours, “You’ll have to catch me first.”

“It’ll be easy, since you’ll be caring for grandma over there.” you say, you jerk your head, his eyes move right back to your arm.

How can you be so hostile all the time? It’s like someone has always pissed in your coffee, you’re hardly pleasant to anyone, especially those you’re making a first impression on. As far as Finnick remembers, he’s never actually met you before, never had the chance to. You got your girl and boy victors, and then handed off the job of mentoring to them like you didn’t care for the job at all.

Hell, Finnick’s found it hard to let go of it.

“Oh really?” Finnick asks, paying attention but trying not to let his irritation shine through.

You’d be such a useful ally to have. With your history of the games, anyone would be sorry not to have you in their alliance. And you volunteered--there’s a plan going on in that head of yours, and he’s got to know.

“What do you want from me?” you ask.

Finnick has gone back to your left arm--his right. This arm isn’t as painful to look at, it’s almost lovely. A very different feel than you give off. If someone had told him that you had such a work on your arm, he wouldn’t believe it. Not with how bitter you are. Bitter and mean.

“Hmm?” he hums, his eyes are stuck on one particular name, it seems a lot more special than the others. Bolded, calligraphy writing. The tattoo artist who wrote this did a phenomenal job, “Who’s Paesyn?”

Finnick sees one large, blur of moment coming from you. His eyes widen for a second, trying to access the situation in what little time he has. Your arm is drawn back, heading straight for his cheek. Finnick catches your wrist in record time, mere inches from his skin. Had you done it, his face would be stinging and he’d have to go out there with a hand mark on his face.

Finnick looks over you measuredly, tilting his head a tad to the right, looking over your face, “You’re hot headed.”

It’s all it takes before you’re screaming in his face.

“You’re a nosy, self-centered, Capitol-raised bitch!” The first sentence leaves your mouth, and it’s enough to turn the heads of your fellow careers friends. Finnick doesn’t mind this, he’s more worried about what’s stirring in his heart, anger, “You’re so cynical that you can’t read a fucking room! You think everyone likes you. You think you can do whatever you want!” you suck in a lung-full of air, “News flash, Finnick Odair, you’re nothing but another pretty face in the sea of victors that are here. No one likes you, as they should.”

Strong opinions, he has to admit it. You yank your wrist free, and Finnick’s eyes widen a little, fearing that you’ll try and hit him again, but you continue shouting, “You’re a filthy human being. I’ll be praying that your death is the first on my hands. I can’t wait until that pathetic girlfriend of yours gets to watch as your body is lowered into a six-foot-deep ditch.”

Suddenly his face is dropping all together, all kindness that he was bothering to have for a decent conversation is gone. That anger only builds when he sees the smug look on your face, as if you think you’ve done something, mentioning Annie like this. Talking about her like she doesn’t have a mind of her own.

She’s human, just like the rest of you.

“You say nothing about Annie.” Finnick can hardly recognize his own voice.

“I can saying whatever the fuck I want about her.” when you stand taller, Finnick clenches his fist, gritting his teeth, your next words should be careful, but they aren’t, “You just don’t like to hear it, because it’s all true.”

Finnick starts forward, full intent of knocking your front teeth out, but there’s peacekeepers appearing between the two of you. One stands in front of Finnick, urging him to go to his own chariot. Finnick grinds his teeth.

Then he catches that fucking look you’re giving him over the peacekeeper’s shoulder, and then he’s resiting a whole new level of anger.

A murderous rage.

--

Finnick loops the rope, pulling the side through to make a second loop. Then, he prepares the end. At the sound of the automatic door whizzing shut, he looks up from his project. Mostly hoping for Katniss and Peeta, but getting you instead.

He’s a lot calmer today, the irritation yesterday definitely wasn’t his fault. He realized that after the tribute parade, when you had come over to apologize. You were much calmer then, and even though the apology of what you said was reluctant, he accepted it anyway.

Having you as an ally wouldn’t hurt. Especially now, with a plan being worked on in the background. Hell, he even asked his mentors to request you as an ally. He didn’t go for Brutus, or the siblings. It was you specifically, because there’s some sort of feeling in his stomach that’s telling him it’s right.

Finnick doesn’t pay too much attention to what you’re doing. One moment you’re talking to the other three careers, and the next you’re working on hand-to-hand combat with one of the Capitol soldiers. He tries not to stare too much, but watching the way you move around the blocks, always knowing where to step, how to move.

It’s entrancing, he can’t help but barely hold onto the mess of rope in his hands, twitching in the directions he would have gone with the moves that the soldier is pulling. It would have gotten Finnick down, but you knew that the soldier wanted you to move that way, so you went the other.

One surge of satisfaction goes through him when you kick the man down. You seem pretty happy yourself, blowing the hair out of your face and going to make conversation with the man. Finnick decides that it’s now or never, tossing the rope onto the cold, cement bench as he heads your way.

You help the man back onto his feet, he sits at one of the lower blocks, and you head upwards, swinging the staff in your hand. Finnick stops a couple of feet away from you, like he did the day before. But now he has to be even more wary; you’ve got a weapon in your hands.

And even though fighting before the hunger games isn’t allowed, it hasn’t stopped either of you yet. You’ve already tried to slap him, and Finnick had the full intent of knocking your teeth out yesterday. Needless to say, the two of you shouldn’t be anywhere near each other, but Finnick has to.

“So what did you tell your mentor?” Finnick asks politely.

You roll your eyes, letting them land on him, “You’re impossible to get rid of.”

Finnick watches as you gracefully take a seat on the block, letting one of your legs dangle, while the other is crossed beneath the thigh. You set the staff next to you, rolling it with your palm.

He can see just how close he’s stopped to you, and so he takes a step or two back. It doesn’t bother him that he has to look up, it’s rather the angle he’s getting. He wants to see you fully, access your body language. Yesterday it had saved him, and today it’ll help him choose his words more carefully.

“What have I ever done to you?” Finnick asks.

“Nothing, thank god.” you nearly laugh, eyes looking him over like you’re sizing him up, Finnick isn’t bothered, “Your existence is enough to set me off.”

Finnick can’t help but to frown a bit, “That’s unfair.”

“Life is unfair. Not everyone has to be pleased with your presence.” you squint, but there’s no sense of hostility just yet.

It’s clear that your speaking patterns are always meant to be mean, hit home close to the person. It’s undoubtedly what happened with your career friends yesterday, with him, and then today with those same careers. You’re always saying something that might be seen as insensitive.

Finnick smiles now, “Oh, I know.”

“I don’t know why you’re so insistent with me in particular. There’s other girls for you to try and swoon.” you motion with the hand that’s still rolling the staff, “Johanna, Cecelia, Wiress, Katniss.”

“Katniss is seventeen.”

“Has that ever stopped you before?” One of your eyebrows raise, it’s a challenge.

She’s clearly referring to his unfortunate time in the Capitol during his youth. Leave it to her to bring up a topic like that, but it’s really like the pot calling the kettle black. He’s not the only one, you’ve been there and done that too. 

“I don’t associate with minors, (Y/n).” Finnick says, making sure that it sticks. He wants you to catch the hint that you’re not like those… people...

It seems to fly right over your head, “That’s right, because you have a girlfriend.”

Finnick presses his lips together, eyes squinting. You’re not really going to wander down this path again, are you? This time he might pull you right down from the blocks and give you a taste of your own medicine right before the peacekeepers come over. And what are the gamemakers going to do about it? Nothing.

“Back to your original question, no, I’m not going to be your ally.” you say, letting go of the staff that you had gripped for a moment.

Finnick raises his head again, he hadn’t realized he lowered it. Either way, it seems like he’s out of a valuable ally. Even if neither of you get along… he’s gotta have you. This won’t be the end, you have to join him and the others. It’s not really a choice anymore.

“Is it because of your distaste for me?” Finnick wonders, eyebrows drawing together. 

“You really could have anyone in this room be your ally, and yet you choose me. Why is that?” you ask, “Is it because I’m mean or difficult?”

He wants to tell you that it isn’t either of them. It’s because you’re dangerous, prepared. That when you volunteered, you had that same dark look on your face that your tributes showed year after year. A certain determination and goal, and they’d do anything to get to it.

He has to lie, he doesn’t have a choice. He can’t risk you knowing, not now. No doubt you’d run off and tell every ear that’s open to listen, “I’m just curious on how well the alliance would be able to hold up in the arena.” Finnick tilts his head, following what you’ve done, “How fast you would try to kill me.”

“Immediately.” you say without missing a beat.

Finnick can’t say he’s surprised, “You’re telling me that I haven’t grown on you at least a little, now? After all the conversations we’ve had.”

You hold up your hand, pressing on your fingers. Finnick knows this ought to be good, if you’re naming points now, “The first one, I called you a cynical prick, the second I was forced to apologize for being too mean and hurting your crybaby feelings, and you’re telling me that this one isn’t any better?”

“Crybaby feelings?” Finnick wants to laugh. Him having crybaby feelings? All he did was mention a name on your arm and suddenly you were on your way to slap him. There was a big difference between your guys’ reactions. He was defending Annie, and you were just being a bitch.

The urge to laugh is gone once he sees the look on your face, “So you didn’t run off to cry to your mentors?”

“You did try to hit me, after all.” Finnick reasons, he also wants to tell you that everyone has their own two eyes, so they were bound to see for themselves, but he tries a nicer approach “They wanted to know what happened.”

“Right, sure.” you roll your eyes.

Finnick smiles, “You’re cute, you know that?”

There’s a change of expression immediately. Your whole face deadpans, eyes narrowing, mouth curling into a snarl. You turn a little red, and if this were a cartoon, there’d be steam coming out of your ears.

It was a harmless statement to him, but clearly you don’t like it. With your jaw all wound up, hand gripping the staff like you’re going to swing it towards him. He guesses that you don’t like the word labeled on you. If he were to take another guess, it’d likely be because you’re never been cute, you’ve always been fire or ice.

Being seen as cute is being seen as vulnerable.

An innocent mistake to him is a grave mistake to you.

Finnick can’t help but to notice a fire crackling in his own chest. He reaches up, rubbing the area because he doesn’t understand it for a moment. He doesn’t feel the need to be defensive, it’s not him that was offended. So, there’s no reason to get mad, not even for you not taking his statement the right way.

It can’t be his own emotion, then. It must be someone else’s.

Finnick looks back up to you, fixing the frown that was beginning to creep onto his face, “Listen, I didn’t mean it like that.”

He watches as you take a deep breath, calming yourself. It seems to work remarkably well, your face begins to return back to its natural color and your face smoothes cooly. No longer gripping the staff--but not rolling it either--your voice is measured, “I am not cute. No matter the way you mean it, I’m not a cute person, and I never will be.”

The fire in his own chest seems to cease, Finnick stops rubbing his hand against his chest in that moment. And his mind takes off with one peculiar thought. 

It’s a little weird that he had begun to feel defensive the same moment that your face turned that red color. Then you calmed down, and that burning feeling in his chest also calmed down.

It all has to be a coincidence, right? It’s a coincidence.

Anyway, it was just as he guessed, you don’t like the gentle things that would change your label from hard to soft. So, instead he takes a different approach. Nodding, he says; “I guess what I should have said is that you’re funny.”

“Funny how?” you’re defensive again, “Funny because I get mad so easily?”

“That and the fact that you also think you’re unlikable. Here’s a newsflash for you: you’re not.” Finnick smiles a little.

“People pretend to like me because they know what happens when they don’t.” you lean towards him, and he knows it’s for an intimidation factor, “I’m sure you can take a solid guess on what I mean.”

Finnick lets out a small laugh, “What, you threaten to kill everyone you don’t like?”

“You’ve been on my list for a pretty long time now.” you say, there’s a head tilt that goes along with it, “I’m lucky that I finally get to fall through on that.”

A list, huh? He’s not bothered by the fact that you don’t like him, you’ve made that clear plenty of times now. But who else could you possibly want to take down with you? Not the careers, he doesn’t think, you’ll want them for your alliance, “Who else is on your list?” Finnick finally asks, hoping that you don’t catch on, “Genuine question.”

If he can find out anyone else that you don’t like and plan on killing, then it’ll be a lot easier to steer them out of your path. Especially if it’s Katniss or Peeta. If you don’t like them, then you’re bound to go after them no matter what it takes. 

“Everyone who has ever done me wrong.” You say simply, there’s a smile on your face.

“Give me an example,” he urges, and then adds, “Besides myself.”

You don’t catch on, “For starters--” you turn your body when you speak. He thinks it’s because you’re searching for the person you’re speaking of, but your finger lands on her easily. You had to have been keeping track of where she’s been moving around. Finnick takes note of that--you’re observant. You continue speaking, “--her.”

Katniss is sitting with Wiress and Betee at the fire starting station. They pay little to no attention to the Capitol person working there. They observe, though, happily. As if they don’t care that they don’t actually get to start, but instead that the tributes already know what they’re doing, well.

Katniss is most definitely making friends like Haymitch had said she would. She was reluctant at the start, but Haymitch said she’d come around. And here she is, choosing two of the most useless tributes to want. Nuts and Volts--as Johanna calls them.

“What has she done?” Finnick’s on the verge of a laugh, he can likely guess why you don’t like her either, but keeps it to himself.

There’s a smile on your face already, when he looks at you, “I’m not one to fight for spotlight, but this year is different.”

Spotlight? You’re here because you want to gain more attention?

He can’t say that he isn’t surprised. He was expecting something else from you. He’s not sure what of, but it wouldn’t be some dumb glory of a two-timing winner. With what you said, there’s no doubt in Finnick’s mind that it’s also what the other careers--Cashmere, Gloss, Brutus--also volunteered for.

Finnick can’t place his finger on it. He just didn’t think you’d want to go back in. Especially since you were so quick to give away your mentor position to your two tributes, as if the job didn’t matter at all. Most career mentors like to live the games through their tributes after they win. It’s the bloodlust that makes them want to go back in for more.

And now he knows that you really are after Katniss, and with that would probably be Peeta too. Which means that the others are likely to follow your lead when it comes to hunting them down…

Makes the situation a whole lot more complicated. Trying to convince you to join his alliance is nearly out the window. There’s no way you’ll be down for what’s being planned if your whole goal is to kill Katniss, Peeta, himself and whoever else. You’ll likely fake your way through the alliance and then try to kill the twelve tributes when you get the chance.

What doesn’t help is that you want the glory. The whole idea is one half of a step from being out the window at this point. Finnick wonders if it’ll be possible to change your mind on it. But with that, he’d have to tell you about the plan, and since you’re District Two--you’re a Capitol Pet…

Finnick can’t leave you hanging, “Because you think you’re going to win?”

“I know I am. And it’ll all work out once I get rid of the only threats. You can identify those on your own, right?” you ask, picking up the staff and deciding to roll it back and forth on your thighs instead. The conversation is nearly over, he knows it, “I didn’t volunteer because I thought I could win. I volunteered because I know I can.”

A certain pride fills his body, it’s in his chest area again. There’s no need to be prideful, especially right now. It’s not his emotion--his emotion would be… oh, he doesn’t know anymore. There’s so much to consider now.

“So, you, Cashmere, Gloss and Brutus in an alliance?” Finnick finally asks, trying to change the topic. Even though he knows he should continue asking questions. But then he’ll risk the chance of being seen as suspicious.

You glance over your shoulder the same moment Finnick’s eyes shift over. He can barely see around the blocks that you’re sitting on to see them. All he can really see is Brutus, and he’s got a certain smug smile on his face. It’s definitely directed towards you and not him.

You look back at Finnick, “What do you think?”

“I wonder where my invitation is at.” Finnick looks at you too.

“You think we’re going to invite you, when you’re clearly going to drag in Mags? Yeah, you’d be just as bad as Peeta.” you roll your eyes.

Mags is no surprise, but Peeta? That’s new information. He thought you’d see Peeta as another threat, considering he was in the career pack last year. 

His eyebrows raise, “What?”

“Peeta is practically dead already, look at how useless he is.” you jut your chin, and Finnick turns halfway to see Peeta.

Peeta’s with Johanna now. Johanna is swinging around her axe, practicing her skills and probably showing off to the gamemakers to get a higher score. He doesn’t know because he only had a brief conversation with her. Peeta’s standing off to the side, out of reach of Johanna. The two of them seem to be talking.

“Does he even know how to fight?” you laugh, it’s a mean laugh.

“Big talk.” Finnick gives you a glance.

“No, just common sense.” you say, moving on, “What about you, Mister Cynical, any alliances?”

What a stupid nickname. The definition of cynical is to think only for yourself. It’s a way to call someone selfish, but the word cynical seems a lot more harsh. It’s a word that no one uses very often.

Finnick turns back to you. He’s going to lie through his teeth, “No, not yet. I was hoping you’d accept my offer to kickstart it.” Why would he bother to offer you into an alliance that you’d likely ditch and ruin? He’d rather you think it was just him and you, and have it be a ‘coincidence’ inside of the arena when the other two join.

“I doubt that you don’t have any alliances by now. No Johanna or Blight? Or are you teamed up with Katniss and Peeta?” Finnick can feel his blood run cold, you’re better at this than he thought. With the way your eyes are running up and down over his face, you’re definitely scanning for something. And then the word that he labeled you with comes to mind; observant, “Or perhaps, both?”

“Stop that.” Finnick snaps before he can catch it.

A teasing smile hints at your face as you suck in your bottom lip. You lean back on your hands, cheerful that you were able to decipher it, “Both it is. It’s nice to know who to look out for and avoid. Now I’ll know that where one goes–the others will follow. I need to know one more thing though, before I end this conversation.”

Finnick’s eyes have drifted, because now he’s mad at himself. He’s blown this entire thing. He looks at you.

“Were you inviting me into the alliance because you want me to fight alongside you guys, or because you wanted to trap me and be able to take me out first?”

At this point, he doesn’t know anymore. Having you fight with them would be fantastic, but with your mindset on the other tributes, he’d have to kill you first. Forget the others--they might have the same goals, but they won’t go to the extent you will.

It’s a long moment of you and Finnick staring at each other. Then, you place the staff on the block, using it to help get to your feet, “Hey, you don’t have to answer, I’ll be finding out soon enough, eh?” you’re spinning the staff between your fingers, “I will be keeping this convo to myself, though. So don’t worry about it.”

No, he will worry. Because this is all it takes. You having a vague idea of the alliance will be enough to make it crumble.

You slam the staff into the block, giving Finnick one last grin before you’re turning around and leaving. Finnick doesn’t stick around too long after, heading towards Mags, hoping that she’ll have some idea of what to do now that he’s screwed it all up.

--

Finnick readjusts the sleeve against his left arm, playing with the fabric at the end of the sleeve. There’s a string that he’s tried to rip off several times now, and it just won’t break off. Even Mags couldn’t get it to part. So now, he’ll just have to deal with it. It’s too late to go back to the apartment.

Especially now since he’s made it to the waiting room. The doors open for him and Mags, the two of them move into the room calmly. Inside, he can see that there are a few districts already inside, with all the careers being there first, respectively. He wouldn’t doubt if you all were the first to sit down, even.

Just as he walks in, you’re pulling off the jacket that you’re wearing, which unintentionally makes it look like you’re showing off your tattoos. In reality, you’re probably warm.

Doesn’t stop him from commenting, “Welcome to the gun show.”

“I really can’t wait until I can knock your fucking teeth out.” you seethe.

“I’m not that bad.” Finnick laughs.

“You are that bad.” you say, not turning to look at him, “I still don’t know what your goal is.”

“I thought we could be friends.” The right word is allies, as it’s been the entire time. But you won’t bite. You didn’t even bite when you thought that he would be teamed up with Johanna, Blight, Katniss or Peeta. Which he thought was a little odd when he finally had time to think it over, later on with Mags.

“You thought wrong, my friends are sitting right here.” You say, and Finnick doesn’t miss the snicker that comes out of Brutus.

Huh. Looks like your mouth really isn’t growing on them. He’s not surprised.

“Who says you have to stop there?” Finnick asks, it’s a genuine question.

You don’t see it that way, “For fuck’s sake, just leave me alone.”

He does leave you alone, and instead starts a conversation with Mags. Even if it is relatively one-sided, she seems to be engrossed in it all the same. Before he knows it, the room has filled with all the tributes, and Gloss is being called in for his individual assessment. 

After Gloss comes Cashmere, and after Cashmere comes Brutus. Brutus and you share an exchange of words, and it really just leaves you there. After you go in, there’s two tributes before he goes in It makes him a little sick to his stomach to know that it’s so close. He’s not normally such a nervous guy, but these games have got him all sorts of tangled up in anxiety.

Finnick looks over to see that he’s not the only one. You’re also looking a tad pale, yourself. The leg bouncing gives it all away, “Is The (Y/n) Rosecelli nervous?” Finnick’s amused, it’s nice to know that you’re not all high and mighty as you like to make everyone think.

“I’m not.” you say in a relatively innocent tone.

“You’re bouncing your leg like you’re trying to get it to fall off.” Finnick points out.

Your leg stops then, and you take a deep breath, leaning into your hands as you rub your face, “I’m not nervous, someone else is.”

“Someone else?” Finnick asks, he’s confused.

You look over your shoulder at him, “As much as playing stupid looks on you, don’t start now.”

Finnick is quiet, and then he sputters out a laugh, “You have a soulmate?” 

“Everyone does. Mine just happens to be emotional, which is a total drag.” you hiss, Finnick’s eyebrows draw in together, “I don’t need to be feeling like this right now.”

“I heard taking deep breaths are a fantastic way to calm yourself down.” He suggests, it’s once again, genuine. But you must not see it that way again, because you ignore him.

You sit up taller, he can’t see your face at all, but he can imagine you’ve got your eyes closed. While you’re doing this, his own stomach churning comes to a slow, and even a stop. The stomach ache that was brewing is now replaced with something much more powerful; confidence.

You take in a deep breath, probably open your eyes, cross your legs, and you continue to sit tall.

The confidence has something underlying beneath it, maybe his own queasiness, because he’s got a disgusting thought that’s running wild in his mind, and it hasn’t died just yet, “Wow--”

“Zip it.” You snap.

Right after, “District Two, (Y/n) Rosecelli. Report for individual assessment.” the voice over the intercom says.

You stand from where you sat, tossing the jacket over your arm and waiting patiently for Brutus to come out. The two of you exchange words again, and then you’re going inside. Leaving him once again.

But this time it’s much more dangerous, because he’s got this fear that’s only blossoming the more he sits here, staring at the door. It’s just a coincidence. It has to be a coincidence, right?

However, it’s all lined up so far. The tribute parade, with how the interaction went. How he felt so fine just before he went up to you--no, not fine. He felt irritated, it’s why he was digging his nail into his finger, to try and cease it. And it wasn’t until the parade was over, did he feel back to normal.

Then the tribute center, during those three days. The first day when you went from your normal, mean self to pissy in half a second after he called you cute, and how he felt that in his chest. Then later that day, when Katniss was shooting arrows and everyone had gathered to watch, he felt something else. Something much scarier than everything else he felt so far--jealousy. It was pure envy.

And it continued throughout those other two days. Whenever you were angry, there was something boiling inside of him too. Finally, today. Today just now before you had gone inside. You went from being ‘nervous’ to being confident, and he felt the change too. 

He’s been trying to tell himself that it’s all coincidence, but it has to be a hell of a coincidence in that case. There’s something inside of him telling him that it’s not, and he’s finally found the one. But there really is no way to tell until the words are said.

He pulls up the left sleeve, staring down at the words, “I should kill you right here.”

--

Finnick leans against the wall, hands in his pants pockets. He watches as his fellow competitors all come out of their rooms, one by one, wearing their outfits. Some are gorgeous, others are plain ugly and he finds himself lucky that he has such a laid-back stylist. What he’s wearing is comfortable, what they’re wearing is the opposite.

Cashmere and Gloss group up with Brutus pretty early on. The siblings have gone on some silver sequin outfits that are definitely going to catch every single light that lands on them. Right now they look ridiculous, but not nearly as ridiculous as Brutus--who looks like he belongs in a roman coliseum.

Ten more minutes pass, and another door is open. Finnick raises his head from where he’s staring at his black boots. And his eyes land right on you, wearing a dress that blows everyone else out of the water. Not even Katniss will be able to compare, he thinks.

You head straight for your ‘friends’ first, talking to them for a moment. Then, you turn your head in his direction, quite possibly by accident. Either way, Finnick takes his left hand out of his pocket, beckoning you towards him with his index finger. After that, he takes a step back, and then another, and disappears around the corner.

He stops pretty far into the empty hallway, mostly because he doesn’t want anyone who’s walking through the hall to hear the conversation that’s about to happen between the two of you. 

Finnick crosses his arms, smiling at the corner. There’s a hundred things that he wants to say, and he’s going to say most of them. Because he’s so entirely amused that you went from not wanting an alliance to wanting one.

But as usual, he can take a solid guess as to why you’d want an alliance now. And it starts with Katniss and Peeta both receiving twelves on their training scores. You would have been a fool not to request him as an ally then. Unfortunately, he’s a lot smarter than you give him credit for, so his answer is going to be no.

You make a wide turn around the corner, in your hands are fistfuls of the dress that you’re wearing, likely so you won’t step on the fabric. When you’re close enough, he begins talking, “What happened to being too good for an alliance with me?”

“I came to my senses,” you flash him a very white smile, “I realized that it might be good to have you around, after all.”

“It has nothing to do with the fact that Katniss and Peeta got twelve’s?” Finnick tilts his head.

You both know he’s got you caught, “Partially. Forget hanging around with Cashmere, Gloss and Brutus. I want a place in whatever you have.”

“Fat chance.” he says, and he watches your smile fade.

“Why not?” your eyebrows are drawn together.

Finnick resists the urge to roll his eyes. The statement you made yesterday about ‘playing stupid’ comes to mind, and he also resists the urge to say that to you, “You know why. I don’t want you killing my allies.”

“Want them all to yourself?” He watches your right eyebrow raise, “Tell me Finnick, are you going to be able to protect them when they rush towards the cornucopia tomorrow?”

Finnick opens his mouth for a moment like he has nothing to say, “They can take care of themselves.”

“Let’s see, you’ll be taking care of Mags, and Katniss will be taking care of Peeta because he’s nothing but a sack of flour–how ironic. If you have me there, I can basically be a bodyguard.”

“Until you kill one of us in our sleep, right?” Finnick scans your face the same way you were scanning his just days ago, “You’re mistaking me for something that I’m not.”

“Everyone is going to kill each other one way or another.” you say, “I won’t have to do it early on, that’s the whole point of alliances. I keep you guys around until we start to turn on each other.”

“What if we don’t have those intentions?” Finnick asks, he’s hinting at the plan. You’re observant, you have to know that there’s more. If you can read into an alliance, you can read into something that would be seen as innocent in anyone else’s eyes.

It worked. You open your mouth, close it. And then you try again with speaking; “What are you planning?”

This is really the only chance he’s gotten in the last couple of days. He’s been wanting a moment like this, despite the fact that it might blow the cover entirely--but that’s happened once already. And if he doesn’t give you an answer, then you’ll just find one of your own, “Tell me, (Y/n), are you a loyalist?”

He watches you go stiff, staring and waiting for an answer. He can feel some feeling that he’s never felt before, stirring in his stomach. He can’t place his finger on it. 

Suddenly, you’re closing your mouth, eyes blank and distant. Slowly, you begin to press your lips together. To him, it looks like you’re not entirely in your own body, rather you’re just a passenger.

You’re dead for another moment, until you take your time with coming back to life, “You are bold.” your stare is still very blank, and you don’t answer his question either, “And careless for asking me a question like that outright.”

Finnick’s face twists now, “Are you, though?” he’s hoping that he didn’t just blow this.

You’re still silent.

“Yes or no.” Finnick urges.

“I’m not going to answer that question.” you say, you’re back now, “Because I don’t know what you’re up to, and I don’t want to. Forget the alliance thing, I change my mind.”

Finnick watches you turn to walk away, and he catches your arm before you go. Maybe you’re not answering because you’re scared that this is a plan to get you in trouble, “I could tell you.” he offers.

“Why would you want to?” you squint.

Finnick lets go of your arm, “Because having you on our side could be useful.”

“Useful for what?” you’re quiet now, “Getting everyone else in District Two to follow behind all the other rioting districts?”

It’s Finnick’s turn to freeze and stare. It looks like he was right about the observant thing, except your whole mind must have run with that idea in the minutes you thought about it. Letting it sizzle, and then turning it over to get a whole new perspective.

His eyes widen, and he swallows.

“We have nothing to complain about, Finnick. We’ve got the good life.”

“And everyone else? What about the people who don’t have the good life? The ones that fight to live everyday? What about them?” he asks, you’ve got to have some compassion.

You nod slowly, thinking, “Well, I’m not a loyalist and I’m not too fond of being considered a traitor either.”

He’s gotten through to you somewhat. You’re right there.

“You’re after the glory of being a legend, right?” Finnick asks, he watches as you take a step back. Clearly you weren’t expecting him to realize what you were after, either, “This is better than that. People will know that you were the first person from District Two to hop on and lead. You want people to look up to you, here it is.”

Someone appears at the corner that the two of you had passed. Finnick looks over, and soon you are too. Haymitch is standing there, “Interviews have started.” his eyebrows are together. Haymitch is going to ask a lot of questions later about this interaction. 

“Thanks.” Finnick says, Haymitch goes back to where he came from, “Don’t make the decision now, but if you do want to join us, come and find me inside of the arena.”

You look at him, “You’re going to run to the cornucopia, I’m not stupid.”

“I know you’re not. Which is why I think you’ll make the right decision.” Finnick tells you.

You scoff, “Right decision? You know what you’re asking, right?” and then you laugh, shaking your head as you pull up your dress so you can walk away, “How do I know if any of this is even true?” he doesn’t say anything, “Exactly, this could be some sort of sick ruse just to draw me in to kill me and get me out of the way. I didn’t come here to be killed, I came here to win. And you’re going to have to fight me for it.”

You shake your head a final time, before you’re turning and leaving.

Finnick looks up at the ceiling, trying to get his heart to stop beating so much. That was such a risk to take, and he’s not even sure if it was worth it to do. Just getting the thought in your mind was…

He shakes his own head.

It was worth it. At least now you’ll be thinking about it. Maybe even make you hesitate inside the arena.

--

The arena is hot. Finnick’s been above the pedestal for only a couple of seconds now, and he can feel himself begin to sweat. Not only is the sun beating down on his shoulders, but the arena is so damn humid too. The combination of the two things is a very clear indicator that he’s going to be dehydrated soon, so the first thing he needs to do is find water.

The whole landscape seems to be in layers. In the middle is the cornucopia, which is stationed atop black rock, with twelve even spokes that go out from it. The second layer is water, which is where the tributes lie. Two tributes to each pie slice, to Finnick’s right is the lady from nine. She’s not part of the alliance.

Beyond the water, is the beach--which the spokes touch. It’s a thin beach, and beyond it is a very healthy, green and thick jungle that looks like absolute terror to deal with. 

Finnick prepares himself to angle to the left, for his black rock spoke. On the other side, the other tribute seems to have the same idea. Or rather, they don’t have much of a choice. Either way, Finnick isn’t worried because he knows that he’s going to make it there first.

The gong sounds, and Finnick launches himself into the water, diving right in. Arm over head, legs kicking hard, he finds himself being comfortable. Water is easy to deal with, it’s how he won his games. He’ll be lucky if he can win the same way.

He reaches the black rock easily, placing his two hands on it. Without trouble, he hoists himself up, noticing that the other tribute hasn’t even gotten close yet. Smugly, Finnick whips his hair out of his eyes before making a bolt for the cornucopia. The trident that the gamemakers have put out, glints in the bright sun.

Finnick makes it to the box, thinking he’s made it there first. He grabs a hold of his trident, and he’s prepared to turn and take a look around, until he hears a certain plucking sound. He takes a step forward, trying to see into the cornucopia room, since that’s where the sound is coming from.

And you turn, face hard with an arrow pulled and pointed straight at his chest.

Finnick’s face twists, “You can’t actually–”

Just to prove him wrong, you let the arrow whizz right over his shoulder. He can feel the air shift--swears that you had even clipped him. Then, you speak, “I should kill you right here.”

Finnick’s mouth falls open involuntarily. It’s the words. You’ve said the words.

“I wouldn’t if I were you.”

You seem to realize too, and then Finnick and you stare at each other, not knowing what to say.

[diifacto]

Saw your post about the hunger games and i completly agree. Anyway you said there wasn't really a love triangle and now I'm curious what you mean with that? I mean like imma start following you anyway now so i won't miss it when you talk about this, but...

I’ve gotten a lot of questions/comments like this one on the statement I made in my last Hunger Games post about the series having no real love triangle, so here’s me (finally) explaining my reasoning.

It was really hard to organize my thoughts in a cohesive, complete way, as I’ve never actually organized my arguement on paper—just verbally, usually yelling (passionately) at my sister—so I’ve split them up into categories based on which aspects of the novels I’m discussing.

First Impressions

Beginning, as all things do, with first impressions. The Hunger Games is, first and foremost, categorized as a YA novel. Now, I love YA. I’ve been reading YA all my life and will probably continue doing so for the rest of it. But there are a ton of tropes/patterns found consistently through just about every YA novel out there, just as in any other genre—sci-fi has spaceships, blasters, and aliens; fantasy has monarchies, dragons, and curses; and YA has love triangles, rebellions, “bad boy” boyfriends, etc. Obviously, this is a gross generalization, but you know what I mean—when Katniss introduces Gale as “the only person with whom I can be myself,” and he checks off the attractive and male boxes on top of it, anyone who’s ever read YA has alarm bells going off in their head: Love Interest Detected.

But, before anything can happen with Gale, we’re heading straight into the Games, where we are confronted with yet another possible love interest. Peeta, Katniss’s competitor—but fake, star-crossed lover? And they have history from back in District 12? We have ourselves a second Love Interest, and therefore we’ve got ourselves a Love Triangle!

(Ignore the Games, of course. The oppressed, impoverished, desperate state of the districts under the Capitol’s control. The children being sent to die for their amusement. The two sixteen-year-olds doing anything they can to stay alive one more day. No, we’ve got some romance on our hands!)

And isn’t that it? Readers go into The Hunger Games, are introduced to these two young, attractive men, who obviously have feelings for Katniss, and whom Katniss depends on (we’ll dig into the significance of that later) in return—and understandably assume this’ll blossom into a plot point. And it does, but not in the way readers are expecting. Suzanne Collins herself never portrays Gale and Peeta as opposing love interests; rather, she uses them to represent opposing worldviews, a huge choice Katniss has to make in Catching Fire. What readers are expecting to happen, though—Love Triangle, Katniss choosing one of the boys, Team Peeta or Team Gale, etc.—can get in the way of how they perceive what Suzanne Collins is really trying to say.

Katniss’s “Choice”

I’d like to present a word to you: juxtaposition. I learned it in English class, it’s fun to say, and it means, according to Google, “The fact of two things being seen or placed close together with contrasting effect.” I think it describes love triangles pretty well; after all, isn’t a love triangle just two, different people placed in the same situation, each with their respective pros and cons? I also think it describes Gale and Peeta’s characters pretty well; except instead of Suzanne Collins juxtaposing them based on their looks, general atheleticism, and by who remembers Katniss’s birthday, she aligns them with two possible futures for Katniss, and two different beliefs.

A life with Peeta means a lifetime of keeping her head down, following the path the Capitol has set for her, living in fear and suffocating oppression, hoping the spark will die out. A life with Gale means the opposite: taking it to the Capitol, rebelling against the Games, turning the spark into a flame and hoping everyone she loves survives the fire.

This is the choice Katniss makes in Catching Fire. When she kisses Gale after he’s been whipped, it’s not because she’s coming into any newfound feelings, it’s because she’s made her decision—to stay and rebel against the Capitol. And in this choice, a life with Peeta is of the Capitol’s invention, and a life with Gale is only another way to rebel.

That’s all there really is to Katniss’s “choice.”

Dependence

“But Margaret,” you say, “Katniss does have feelings for Gale and Peeta in return.” Oh, sure. I won’t argue there—there’s a reason, aside from them being superficially perfect Love Interest archetypes, that both these boys themselves do appeal to Katniss. But these “feelings,” this reason, aren’t/isn’t inherently romantic.

After Katniss’s father died, Collins depicts how Katniss’s mother fell into an incredibly lethargic state, sick with sadness, and effectively abandoned eleven-year-old Katniss to deal with her own grief and keep the family alive, all alone. Understandably, this experience has kept Katniss from trusting easily or becoming too dependent on people, lest they do the same and leave when she needs them. For the most part, Katniss lives independently, relying on no one for support, not accepting help. But why, when people argue that Katniss does have feelings for both Gale and Peeta, do I have to admit that while I disagree overall, there is something there Katniss doesn’t let herself feel for anyone else? What makes these two boys different from everyone else in The Hunger Games?

Simple: they’re the only two people Katniss (reluctantly) lets herself depend on.

When discussing Gale’s popularity among the girls at school, Katniss mentions that it makes her jealous, but not for the reason people think. “Good hunting partners are hard to find,” she says, 1. acknowledging Gale’s desirability, 2. making her lack of romantic interest clear, and 3. admitting she relies on him as a hunting partner, and feels threatened by the idea of losing him. And of course she does—especially since Collins shows us that it isn’t just Katniss herself depending on Gale; after the reaping it will be Prim, who Katniss describes as the only person in the world she’s certain she loves, and her mother. Without Gale, and with Katniss heading off to the Games, she has no way to ensure Prim’s safety. Thus, Katniss is incredibly dependent on Gale.

Peeta comes later, but equally as necessary; offering Katniss safety through their star-crossed lovers strategy, and, later, an understanding of the Games she can’t get from anyone else. Katniss, someone so scared of depending on people, has ended up depending on these two boys for different things. Gale, to protect her family, her home, to offer her freedom from the stifling nature of the Capitol and the Victor’s Village; and Peeta, to offer her understanding and freedom in a different way, from the dreams, from the arena, from the pressure of keeping everyone alive.

So when people counter my opinion that Katniss never had any romantic feelings for either Gale nor, initially, Peeta (we’ll break that “initially” down, don’t worry), I’ll give them that, yes, Gale and Peeta got something from Katniss no one else did: trust. And trust is, of course, a fantastic base for a healthy, romantic relationship. But it doesn’t become one in Hunger Games. Katniss loves Gale, and she loves Peeta, I can’t argue that. But that love isn’t romantic.

Debts Owed

This will be very brief—just something to think about, to go along with my analysis of Katniss’s dependence.

I need to acknowledge that, while my arguement is that Katniss never had any definitively romantic feelings for either Gale or Peeta, they definitely did for her. And she knew. So, just for a moment, I’d like us to consider the thought process of someone who has never, ever, let herself depend on anyone else—depending on someone who obviously wants something more from her?

Do you think she may feel like she owes something to this person, as thanks? Do you think she might be afraid, if they weren’t to get what they want, that they might leave? Do you think that, even if she didn’t have any romantic feelings for either of the two, she might kiss them, just in case?

I’m not saying this is the case in Hunger Games, but as I was writing up “Dependence,” it occurred to me: what would that really do to a person? And I just wanted to bring it up for discussion. When Katniss made her choice—rebellion—did she have to seal that choice with a kiss? Or was that her way of ensuring that yes, she was picking rebellion, and Gale was the rebellious choice, and yes, this kiss, this promise, will keep him by my side.

Was Gale Ever Really A “Contender”?

Let’s tie the frayed ends of “First Impressions”/“Katniss’s ‘Choice’”/“Dependence”/“Debts Owed” together. If you’ve made it this far, you’ve an inexhaustible well of patience, and I applaud you.

Remember when I added that “initially” when discussing Katniss’s lack of romantic feelings for Peeta? While I’m still firmly on the side of Katniss ending up single—at least for a few years, while the poor girl recovers and figures all the shit you’re supposed to understand in your teens, and when you’ve been through a war, out—of both “choices,” of course she ends up with Peeta. Why? Well.

Despite the “choice,” despite dependence, despite all the evidence laid here on the contrary, despite all that, if you still think there’s a love triangle in Hunger Games, explain to me this: you need two love interests to make a love triangle—and was Gale ever really a contender?

Let’s walk through it. Right from the beginning, immediately after Suzanne Collins introduces Gale, she has Katniss go through the steps discussed in “Dependence”; acknowledge desirability and attractiveness, state her disinterest romantically, and move on. Already, sweeping any suggestion that Katniss may have some unspoken, romantic love towards Gale. Not to say it couldn’t develop—but it doesn’t.

Catching Fire is where the boys are perhaps juxtaposed the most, with Katniss’s “choice” coming into play. Remember what I said about debts owed? Gale continues to push Katniss’s boundaries, confessing his love, pressuring her, even after she’s expressed her disinterest in love right now (amid all this death and rebellion, a perfectly fucking normal sentiment) and confusion around the subject. Not only that, but he insults Peeta, Haymitch, and those involved with the Games (ex. Cinna, Effie, Katniss’s prep team) by lumping them in with the Capitol, and while the latter is a fair judgement, he doesn’t listen to Katniss when she tries to defend them and explain they’re rebelling in their own way, same as him. Gale in Catching Fire begins his “downwards spiral,” as he turns everything black and white, shunning Katniss when she doesn’t agree 100% and accepting her back with open arms after she kisses him.

Peeta, on the other hand, understands the gray area. He listens to Katniss, and although he’s getting exactly what he wants—a relationship with Katniss, a life with Katniss—he takes no joy in it because he knows it isn’t what Katniss wants. Remember after their proposal, on the Victory Tour, when Katniss asks Haymitch why Peeta’s not happy, as this was what he wanted? Haymitch tells her it’s because he wanted it to be real. And that’s true for Peeta throughout the whole trilogy; he truly cares about Katniss’s wants, tries his hardest not to pressure her, and is genuinely a continuous source of support. He rebels, the entire time, in his own quiet, calculated way; with the money in District 11, with the “baby bomb” in the interviews.

Here’s a juxtaposition for you: Peeta’s love for Katniss isn’t conditional; Gale’s is.

For proof, just look at Mockingjay. Specifically, look at—spoilers—Prim’s death.

Everyone knows that girl is the most important thing in the world to Katniss. All of District 12 knows it, President Snow knows it, President Coin knows it—hell, regular, average citizens of the Capitol know it. Everyone knows there is nothing, nothing in the world that could make Katniss put Primrose in danger, even at her own expense. Katniss would rather die than have Prim get hurt, and anyone close to her, who loves her, knows damn well that’s what she’d want.

So when Gale’s bomb goes off, delivering the final blow to the Capitol, at the expense of so many innocent lives, at the expense of Katniss’s sister—there was no love for Katniss there. There was absolutely no consideration, no respect for Katniss. There was just violence, and the hungry, desperate need to win this war, to rebel.

I could never say that Katniss and Gale weren’t a great team. I could never say they weren’t good, lifelong friends—I mean, starting out. They were fantastic hunting partners, further shown in Mockingjay, when they started hunting people instead of deer or turkey or wild dogs. But they grew apart, after Katniss changed in the Games and Gale changed in the rebellion, and there was never, really, the chance of anything romantic between them. Katniss depended on Gale to, above all other things, protect her sister, and he didn’t, so she stopped depending on him. And there wasn’t anything left.

That’s what I mean when I say, even if you think Katniss had real feelings for Peeta—and they do end up together, so even if I don’t agree with it, okay, alright, maybe it was Suzanne Collins’ intention—there’s still no love triangle, because Katniss never had feelings for Gale. And even if, maybe, maybe some would’ve developed—we’re getting into pure hypotheticals here—his character never would’ve been a real option for Katniss. They changed too much, and grew too far apart, and there would have been absolutely no chance for him after Prim.

Conclusion

In conclusion, I’m sorry. I’m more cohesive and intelligent verbally. Most of the time. Promise.

In conclusion, there is no love triangle in Suzanne Collins’ Hunger Games. Rather, there are two boys who have feelings for the same girl, and this girl, who never depends on anyone, depends on these two boys for different things, and has to make a huge, horrible, irreversible choice, and somehow it ends up attaching itself to these two boys. And that’s really all there is to it.

[wilder-minded]

SFB Chapter 3

Read previous chapter.

I felt relief walking into my house, seeing the recap of the bloodbath on the screen and Katniss safe in the forest... as safe as she could be in the arena. I stopped in the doorway, watching for a quiet moment when I felt a hand on my shoulder and I jumped in surprise, whipping around to see my father standing behind me.

"Oh! You startled me, father," I say, a sheepish grin as my cheeks flush and my heart rate thuds in my chest.

My father is a tall man, though not nearly as tall as Gale, with a thicker build than most in the district. I attribute that to the years of eating without worry and banquets with Capitol officials. He was balding but refused to remove what was left of the spare hairs. His blue eyes were striking, though softer in tone like my own.

"I thought I heard you down here," he smiles, nodding toward the television behind me. "She's your friend, the girl with the strawberries?"

"Yeah, she is," I confirm, my blonde curls brushing over my shoulder as I glance back at the screen too.

"She's caused quite the chatter in the Capitol, volunteering for her sister and all," he says, his voice casual as he pulls out a white ceramic mug, beginning to make tea.

"I'm sure she must hate the attention" I respond quietly, and he chuckles to himself.

"Yes, but that attention will keep her alive," he raises an eyebrow in my direction and I nod softly in agreement. "She's very skilled, but the donations that attention brings in will give her the advantage that she needs."

I knew he was right. "I heard that the people in the Hob have started a donation pot for her," I mention as my father finishes making the tea.

"As he walks past, he gives me a wink. "I know, I gave the first donation," he whispers before disappearing up the stairs. "Get some rest, Madge"

My father was always hard for me to read, but I suppose it had to be that way. Being an official in Panem meant walking a thin line to avoid retaliation for even the smallest offenses, though it seemed to be more relaxed here in Twelve. My father kept to himself mostly, but occasionally would surprise me like the day he began purchasing strawberries from the crafty Seam girl.

I sighed as I turned off the lights in the sitting room, the dim flicker from the broadcast now focused on the unnaturally colorful Caesar Flickerman and his cohost. I turned it off, effectively silencing the speculation that I wanted to avoid. For as long as I had memories, each year we hosted the victors and their entourage on the Victory Tour and each year I was appalled and amused by the gaudy appearance of the Capitolites. The ways in which they willingly mutilated their bodies in the name of "beauty" was something I could never understand, though I had become quite skilled at maintaining a neutral expression while observing them. My father was careful with the manner in which he handled the Capitol guests; any inkling of disrespect or discord would mean automatic demotion or worse. Though he never explicitly told me this, I knew I played a part in that and I did my best to stay within boundaries I set for myself.

As I walked into the bathroom, I saw my reflection in the small metal-framed mirror that hung above our sink. The bridge of my nose and cheeks were tinted a light pink; no doubt from sitting in the sun longer than my fair skin was used to. I could see the faint freckles developing and I thought back to my childhood with my freckled nose and blonde waves that my mother tried to keep contained with pretty ribbons. I always managed to pull them out, my long hair falling lose much to her dismay. There were shadows under my eyes—they were still bright though tired.

I sighed, combing through my blonde locks and brushing my teeth before retreating to my bedroom. Maybe sleep would find me tonight... or so I could hope.

Before I had fallen asleep the night before, I could not help but think of my father strolling into the Hob. Everyone knew what went on in there, but the district officials turned a blind eye. Many of them benefitted from it anyway, like the group of Peacekeepers that frequented it for lunch. It was harmless really, just people trying to support themselves and their families. But to imagine the Mayor walking in for nothing more than to show support for one of their own, it stirred something in my mind though I couldn't quite place what it was.

I was always awake before the rest of my family, and this morning I decided to walk through town as the sun rose and the dew was still slick on the uneven cobblestone streets. My father wasn't keen on my habit of taking off for walks, but he long ago ceased to mention it as I got older.

I saw a warm glow coming from a few storefronts, one that I immediately recognized as the bakery. I felt a pang of guilt that I had not thought of Peeta much at all throughout this, even though he was very much in the same situation as Katniss. Probably worse off, if I was honest with myself. Katniss had an instinct for self-preservation that came only from the circumstances that she dealt with for most of her life. Peeta had been sheltered as a merchant's son, much like myself. Peeta and I would probably fair the same in the arena, I thought. How could I defend myself, with deadly piano keys?

I thought of the sweet baker's boy, and how he had always been nothing but kind to me when we crossed paths. It was hard to imagine someone with his gentle disposition in an environment such as the arena, though I supposed that survival could bring certain things out in people. And I recalled his confession during his interview with Caesar, how he had been in love with Katniss since boyhood. I believed him, the pain in his eyes was too real to be a ploy for sympathy.

I sighed, trying to imagine what his family must be going through before my feet made the decision my mind was mulling over. I pushed open the bakery door and a small chime sounded as it swung open enough for me to slip through. Most of the merchants lived above their businesses which I guessed made the line between home and work blur more than the children would have liked.

I offered a good morning, choosing a few loaves that I knew my parents enjoyed. As the blonde boy placed the bread into a paper bag, I slid the money across the counter.

His eyes wide as he saw the extra coins I laid down, but I kept my face neutral. "Oh, I think..." he started but I shook my head to cut him off. =

"No, that's the right amount," I said, before gathering my things and leaving, noticing the small smile on the boy's lips. I didn't need the extra coins, I had decided. I would never need as much as had been afforded to my family.

[talesofpanem]

Tattoo Fixers : Panem

Author: @thegirlfromoverthepond

Rating: T

Summary: Katniss needs someone to fix a bad tattoo.

AN: Deepest, deepest thanks to the amazing @xerxia31 who beta-ed this piece.

Even though I liked the prompt, it took me times to find the idea for this story - until I watched my TV, which prompted an episode of Tattoo Fixers - London. Maybe some of you from the EuroClub know about it ? Anyways, here is my take at this week’s prompt.

Hope you have fun.

_____________

She would be fascinated by the ballet of assistants running around the shop if she wasn’t embarrassed to be sitting there, being prepped by a team of make-up artists and a hairdresser. 

Just looking at the people putting mascara on her eyebrows or trying to tame her hair was a spectacle in itself, with their tattoos poking out from under every bit of clothing, along with piercings or blue hair. 

Katniss felt utterly out of place, waiting for her turn to appear on a television show she didn’t even want to go on. Alas, it was the only free way to fix something she had regretted since she had woken up after a particularly drunken night with her cousin Gale.

It was all Gale’s fault. It had been the day of her father’ funeral, the day after Gale buried his own. After the ceremony, after everyone had gone home, Gale had taken Katniss out. She hadn’t asked, just silently nodded when he had grabbed the keys of his father’s old pickup, heading out to their favorite spot in town, to get drunk.

In the hopes they could forget the void left by their fathers.

They had spent hours in that bar, drinking until they couldn’t drink anymore, until everything faded into blackness. The next morning, however, they’d woken up together in the bed of the pickup truck, each sporting the mother of all hangovers and a lovely souvenir of their evening

Apparently, they had somehow found their way to a tattoo parlor.

Since that night, Gale had sported a wonderful peacock on his biceps, which he still found funny all these  years later.

Katniss wasn’t as lucky. She all but hated the cartoonish, badly drawn bow and arrow on the inside of her forearm. The only good thing about it was its size - tiny, so a wristband could cover it easily. She took to wearing one everyday. Solid. In leather.

Arrow. Her father’s name, had been inked forever on her arm. She would have loved it if she had been able to choose the drawing properly, instead of having been branded with a cupid-ike tattoo design.

Hence her presence on the set of Tattoo Fixers, a reality show where talented tattoo artists helped people cover up their tattoo disasters with gorgeous works of inked art. 

Removing the tattoo was way too expensive for her bank account. But Prim had convinced her to share her story with all the whole country, risking the humiliation of being branded as a drunk crazy woman on cable TV.

Wonderful.

“Katniss? You’re on in five,” a young assistant told her, making the team of preppers buzz around her like there was a breach in a beehive. One man, Flavius she thought his name was, because why not, was complaining about the state of her nails, how chipped they were, how he couldn’t do miracles, how he couldn’t find time to fit in a manicure in the remaining five minutes.

“I’m a botanist. It would be destroyed by tomorrow anyway.” She shrugged the thought away, almost taking pleasure in the disgusted look on his face. Take that, Flavius.

When the assistant came back, all smiles and happy mood, Katniss followed her out of the parlor and onto the street. Just like any other participant, she would have to walk to the shop, entering as if she was a totally random client.

Bull.Shit.

The only random part was which tattoo artist she would choose. At least she would be surprised by their drawings.

This was staged TV, reality-TV. She usually couldn’t stand it. 

She sighed, taking her place ion the street.

“Remember, start walking when the director shouts ‘Action!’” 

Katniss resisted the temptation to roll her eyes.

She started walking as casually as possible when she was told to, entering the shop as naturally as she could manage, trying to avoid laughing at the host’s attire of the day. Nobody ever bothered telling Caesar Flickerman that he might be colorblind. Today, he was mixing  a flashy orange shirt with beautiful purple bermuda shorts. No doubt the episode would air in summer.

“Here is our next client!” Caesar sounded a little too enthusiastic at her entrance into the parlor. “What’s your name, darling?” He took her hand, helping her sit on the couch facing the one where the three tattoo artists were sitting.

She took a deep breath before answering, hoping her voice didn’t falter. 

As she explained why she was there, Katniss took a good look at the three people in front of her, mentally thanking Prim for the briefing she’d given Katniss before she left that morning.

There was the woman, Jo, whose body was almost fully covered in tattoos and piercings. Only her face remained pristine, making her red hair stand out. She was sitting next to Finnick, who as the star tattooist of the program was sitting between his two colleagues. Finnick’s body was a work of art. Prim had swooned over it for much too long when she had briefed her sister, showing Katniss pictures of the man who appeared to live his life shirtless. Katniss had then been privy to the numerous tattoos that adorned his back, a chinese setting, dragon included. 

She had seen several shots of him, of his so perfect body that made women of all ages swoon over him. Of course, Katniss was well aware of the dispatch of muscles, the Greek-god physique Finnick had, and fully expecting to be struck with lust as soon as she laid eyes on him in person. Yet nothing happened.

Nothing. At. All.

She was much more intrigued by the third tattooist, sitting next to Finnick. If Jo was a picture of the bad girl, Finnick the perfection, this third person was something else. He screamed “normal”, standing out from the two others, in Katniss’ opinion. Maybe it was because she couldn’t see a single tattoo on him, not even the required tribal band around his biceps.

There was something about his blue eyes, about his messy blond air that made her look at him more than the two others. Something that attracted her.

“This is Peeta, but we call him Peet. He’s the newcomer as Cato decided he needed a year off,” Finnick said and Peeta smiled. “So, how do you want us to cover the tattoo? Any specific request?”

“Well, nothing arrow-esque, or cupid-like. I’d like something that’s more inspired by nature,” she said. She just wanted the stupid bow and arrow to be covered.

Both Finnick and Jo grabbed their sketchbooks and started to draw. But she could feel Peeta’s eyes on her, lingering for a few seconds before he in turn, dived in.

“Well, tell us about you, Kathy?” Caesar said,making idle conversation to allow the tattooists time to finish their drawings.

“It’s Katniss, actually. Nothing thrilling, I’m a botanist and I live with my sister, Primrose.”

“Oh, that’s nice, she’s named for a flower!”

Katniss couldn’t help rolling her eyes. She knew this part would be cut because nobody really cared about the chit chat between a host and someone they would forget as soon as she left the office. 

“Just like I am, it’s kind of a family tradition.”

“And you’re a florist! Isn’t it amazing.”

“I’m a botanist, but not far away.”

She was already over her talk with the host. A talk she was quite sure only lasted a few minutes, still felt like two long days. 

“We’re ready, Kitty Kat. Here’s my drawing.” Jo handed over her sketchbook, on which a beautiful cat was displayed. With red fun, he would have been a striking copy of her sister’s cat, Buttercup, aka the bane of her existence. “You strike me as independent and very focused, hence, the cat.”

“It’s beautiful, Jo, thank you,” Katniss said, as she took in the beautiful shape of the cat’s ear, the detailed eyes. The woman had talent.

“I went for something more… natural,” Finnick said. “ I hope you like it!” He handed her his sketchbook, then leaned back on the couch, taking a sugarcube out of his pocket before popping it in his mouth.

On the page in front of her was a display of gorgeous intertwining orchid flowers.

 “I can do them in different shades, like a watercolor painting, you know?” Finnick added, as Katniss stared in awe.

“It’s lovely, wow, I wasn’t expecting that, Finnick.” Between the two drawings, her choice was made. She wasn’t even sure Peeta would be able to compete.

“She’ll pick mine, guys, I’m ready to bet ten bucks!” Finnick lifted his arms in victory. 

“It doesn’t have to be a big one, right?” Katniss asked, hoping his answer would be a no.

“It can be whatever you desire, sweetheart.” Finnick’s voice was sugary, and his green eyes sparkled as he winked at her.

Which made Katniss roll her eyes.

“Well, Finnick, this one’s immune to your charms.” Peeta’s voice, amused, chimed in. “Katniss, here is my take for your tattoo.”

She put down Finnick’s sketchbook to take Peeta’s. There were no words to describe her feelings when she looked down at the drawing on the paper. She had expected something somewhere between Jo and Finnick’s like an animal in nature, or just a drawing of a beach, absolutely not what she had before her eyes.

Peeta had drawn a wave.

A single, simple wave.

Yet, the closer she looked, the more details she could see. The wave was made entirely of flowers.

Primroses and katniss were braided together with such precision, with such attention, it was mesmerizing.

From two feet away the drawing looked like a wave.

But to her, for the closer her eyes got, it was a flower wall.

She opened her mouth to talk, to express how incredible she found the drawing.

No words came out.

She had to take a deep breath before gathering her thoughts before she was able to talk again.

“This. This is what I want.” 

“Shall we go, then?” Peeta asked, rising from the couch.

She nodded her agreement before following him to the back.

She was glad the cameras didn’t filming the whole process. They were busy filming other segments with other “clients”. 

“What prompted you to draw this? I mean I had no idea that was what I wanted until you showed me…” she asked.

“Your talk with Caesar. You told him you were a botanist, that it was a tradition to have flower names in your family. So I checked what Katniss was. It came up with sagit-something…”

“Sagittaria sagittifolia.,” she said under her breath.

He laughed, as he charged his machine with ink.

“Yes, that. You said you live with your sister, and I remembered you told us you got this awful thing after a funeral so I added one and one… You must have a pretty close relationship with your sister.”

“Yeah, we do …..” She was watching him come closer with his machine. She had a question, though. “How do I know you can tattoo? I mean, you don’t even have any of your own?”

“I do have one tattoo, but it’s hidden. I’m not as extrovert as Finn and Jo.”

“I noticed.. Could I see it ?”

“Well, it would involve you seeing me at least half naked… “

She blushed. “Oh, my, sorry…”

“No need to apologize. I did Finn’s dragon, and can show you pictures of previous works I’ve done,  if you need references …. “

“It’s okay, I trust you.”

He smiled, a gentle, kind, warm smile at her words.

As soon as he started working on her forearm the cameras returned. He explained the steps he was taking, using the shape of the bow for the wave, the body of the arrow to line up the braids of flowers.

“It’s done. You can look.” His voice took her by surprise.  She looked down, finding herself at a loss for words, again.

There was no way she would hide this one under a wristband.

After the mandatory shots for the TV, Peeta was wrapping her arm in cello, when he asked.

“I kinda won twenty bucks earlier, thanks to you. Want to share it with a tea?”

“No,” she answered. As his face fell, she added, “But I’d love a hot chocolate with whipped cream, if you know a place.”

He knew a place.

(Turned out he had a tree of life tattoo along his ribcage. She could spend hours tracing it with her fingers. Or her tongue.)

[softpeetabread]

University Life part 3

I’m so flattered by the positive reception to this au and the comments I received have encouraged me to continue. Thank you to everyone that’s taken the time to read this little tale. I have more in store and here is but a piece, which I hope can suffice until my next update. Enjoy!

[Part 1] [Part 2]

Katniss  had  to give Peeta credit for making it till the end of the day to crash and fall asleep, or at least until they made it back to his apartment. He didn’t even reach his bed and opted for the living room couch, even if it was probably uncomfortable. Nevertheless, she found a blanket in his room and covered him with it.

She had been at his apartment plenty of times to know where to find things. She prepared a mug with a teabag for when he’d wake up and started on dinner for them. They usually worked together to make meals, but Peeta needed his sleep and she would not disturb him just so they could cook.

Finnick came into the apartment some time later, a tired expression on his face. He’d probably had a long day as well.

“Did you replace my roommate?” Despite his exhaustion, he still managed to give her a mischievous smile.

“Please, you would be the one Peeta would replace,” she answered, her own playful smile on her lips.

“You’re like his mother. Look at you: making him food while he sleeps.”

Katniss shrugged. “Don’t be jealous just because this isn’t for you.”

After spending so much time with Finnick and Johanna thanks to Peeta, she had gotten up to speed with their jokes and jabs. Had she been a new friend and used that response she would have felt like she was being unnecessarily mean and biting. However, she knew her answer wouldn’t hurt Finnick since they tended to say worse things to one another. Katniss had simply adjusted and learnt from them all. Sometimes, harsh comments would get thrown around and Peeta would step in to defend her from his friends, but she wasn’t bothered because she knew she could hurt them with her words if she wanted to. There was a difference between being defensive and playing along.

By the time she finished cooking, Finnick had left to meet Annie at her apartment, leaving Peeta and Katniss alone once again. She heard Peeta yawn as he sat up.

“What a coincidence that you wake up just as I’m about to serve us dinner,” she said with a smirk.

“My stomach can sense quality food from a mile away,” Peeta answered, stretching his back. “What’d you make?”

“Your favorite: stew.” Katniss brought the pot to the table carefully, setting it on the center where the heat mat rested.

“I think you mean that’s your favorite,” he chuckled and got up to help Katniss set the table. “I’ll eat anything you make, though.”

“It’s not like you have a choice.”

Peeta pretended to be pensive about it. “Well, I could order something, but then I’d be wasting some good stew. And then, I’d get a long lecture from you about how awful it is to waste food. And then, you’d remind me of how long it took you to make it. I’ll save myself all that trouble.”

Katniss couldn’t help but laugh. Was she that predictable? “You are not only smart, but you are a wise man, Peeta.”

“I’ve learnt that I have to keep a woman happy or else I’d be facing her wrath,” Peeta shrugged.

“Don’t tell me your priority is to keep me happy,” Katniss said with mock sarcasm.

“Then, I won’t tell you.” He brought the plates to the table and Katniss served them dinner. “I do admit I have my priorities straight. It just so happens that one of them is to make someone happy.”

She wasn’t sure how to respond to that as she wasn’t sure who he was really referring to. “That person is very lucky… Now hurry up and eat your stew while it’s hot.”

“I could just heat it up!”

“It won’t taste the same!”

Peeta rested his face on his hand as he looked at her, laughing with amusement at their exchange. “There’s no winning with you.”

“You should know that by now.”

Putting his wisdom to use, Peeta kept quiet save for the chuckles he couldn’t help holding back, which made Katniss look away from him else she risked choking on her food. She had never laughed so much in her life, from what she remembered, until she got to know Peeta and now she couldn’t stop. The real winner was him because he got the last laugh out of her.

Gray eyes scanned the bottom of the pool until they located the colorful rings that had been arrayed in a line, each far enough for a challenge. There was a liberating feeling about swimming that Katniss loved and when she found out the gym had a pool—a bigger one than the one at the apartment complex—she was thrilled and couldn’t wait to jump in. She was practicing on reaching the bottom, which was the one skill she struggled with. Her dives were decent, her speed allowed her to reach the other end of the pool in about four breaths, and her strokes let her gracefully swim across without stopping. After doing this for years, it felt like a reward rather than a work out. It definitely felt like a cool down what with her being in the water, but her muscles still ached and she was more than sure that she would be sore the following day.

Peeta and her worked out together by running and he had showed her how to work some of the machines that appealed to her, but there were exercises in which they did alone. He did weights and boxing while she swam. If one of them finished early, they would wait for the other until they were done so they could leave together. She thought it was a good thing they didn’t depend on each other for all of their exercise routines and gave each other some space, too. Peeta had mentioned he only knew the basics for swimming like floating and not drowning, so Katniss didn’t insist on him to join her. She did offer to teach him and he agreed to it when their exams week would pass.

Katniss pushed through the water to swim downward and reached for a ring, lacing it around her arm as she reached for the next one. She managed to take three from the floor before she floated back up and took a deep breath, feeling how her chest ached and her lungs screamed. They didn’t look like much but pushing herself on the deep end of the pool took the most energy from her. Taking the rings was the easy part. She went back to get the remaining three after taking a few breaths and decided to call it a day.

She spotted Peeta sitting next to her things with a sketch book in hand. Katniss wondered how he had the ability to draw without difficulty, and it made sense to her why he would choose a career like architecture. Although, he could have also succeeded as a painter. She had been in awe at the canvases he showed her that were in his room, full of vivid colors and beautiful scenery. She walked towards him, wondering what it was that he was doodling.

“Drawing people swimming?” she asked raising an eyebrow.

“More or less,” Peeta answered with a shrug before putting his pencil down and closing his sketchbook. Only he found a way to carry that in his gym bag. ‘In case I felt inspired’, he had said to her once.

“May I see it when you finish?”

“I can show you right now, if you want.”

It must please Peeta that Katniss showed interest in his sketches, or at least that’s what it looked like to her. Not that there was anything wrong with that. If anything, she gave him encouragement and she admitted he looked adorable when he got enthusiastic. He flipped to the current page he was working on as she sat beside him, a towel wrapped around her to keep from getting water everywhere.

It was a rough sketch, but she could make out the figure of a girl standing along the edge of the pool and what looked like a braid that swayed to the side, as if she had shaken her head to get water off her hair. Her mouth hung open slightly as she realized Peeta had started to sketch her.

“I think your drawing looks way better than I do in real life,” she said, a playful smile on her lips.

“Hardly. I’m afraid about not being able to do you justice.”

Katniss rolled her eyes, even if it was flattering to be Peeta’s muse for one sketch.

“You could draw me as a fish and it wouldn’t make a difference.”

It was Peeta’s turn to raise an eyebrow at her. “I think I’ll draw your gills on your throat.”

“Don’t forget a fin on my back,” she added. “Make me look scary.”

Peeta put the notebook away as he spoke. “For me to do that, you would have to already be scary-looking, which you’re not.”

Katniss gave him a scowl, trying to prove her point that she was, in fact, as frightening as she claimed to be.

“Wow, you certainly terrified me,” Peeta said dryly.

“Good because I could be your worst nightmare.”

“Katniss, you’re as terrifying as a new born kitten.”

With the strap of her gym bag on her shoulder, Katniss began to walk away from the pool with Peeta beside her. “Just because I’m not as tall as you are doesn’t mean I can’t still scare the shit out of you.”

“I doubt it but keep telling yourself that.”

As she showered, she replayed Peeta’s words in her head and she somehow felt a bit bothered by the fact that he didn’t find her intimidating. She’d show him one day he should be scared of her. He may have been bigger than her in height and size, but he was an even bigger softy. She let it go after a while and breathed out, thinking about his sketch.

Why would he decide to draw her, of all people, anyway? She probably looked like a feral animal if anything, not some attractive swimmer like Annie or Finnick. Maybe Peeta would make her look pretty. He had such a talent for making even the most mundane things look amazing when his fingers created his artwork.

I admit this started off as a short story, but then it grew as I kept writing and I want to write as much as I can about the relationship between these two. I love banter, flirting, and flirtatious banter, so I hope I did something right here. Maybe this feels like these two instances aren’t related, but believe me, I’m following a sort of timeline. This matters to their story. I am open to suggestions about this au if anyone has any ideas they’d like to share with me! Whether it’s for their friendship or when they are dating (I promise, they will get together, just not today *winks*). Let me know what you think. I will update soon!

[ellanainthetardis]

prompt : peeta plans to loose his virginity to katniss so he goes and asks haymitch for some pointers and advice on if there is anything special hes suppose to do for a girl

One very uncomfortable conversation coming up! (X]

Haymitch, The Poet

Breakfast had become something Haymitch reallylooked forward to since Effie had brought Peeta back to Twelve – and had showedup along with him. It might have been absolutely stupid in its simplicity buthe loved sharing coffee and toasts with her in the morning, eggs if he feltlike cooking. Breakfast had always been a quiet time for them during the Games,a time they either used to strategize before their tributes showed up or tobanter over a blueberry muffin. In Thirteen, they hadn’t had many occasions tosit down and eat together. Their schedules had been different and, when theyhad matched, there had always been people around them to intrude.

So, all in all, the last three weeks of themhaving breakfast together in the mornings had become something he had reallystarted looking forward to. Living together wasn’t something they otherwiseexcelled at for now. She had too many expectations and he sometimes resentedher overwhelming presence in his house. They would get there though. He really wanted them to get there. She hadtalked about sharing her time between Twelve and the city at first – becausePlutarch had offered her a job in the entertainment industry that she wasconsidering taking – but she had yet to pack and leave.

Which suited Haymitch fine because he enjoyedtheir breakfasts.

And their nights.

And their in-betweens, even the fights thatleft him hoarse.

So that morning, as he sipped his cup of coffeeand smirked over the rim of the mug because she was trying not to smile whilebiting on her toast, fluttered as she was with his attention, he was in a verygood mood. It might have had to do also, perhaps, with the foot she had hookedaround his ankle under the table.

“We are ridiculous.” she chuckled, wiping herfingers on her napkin. “I hope you realize that.”

He did. He really,really did. But that wasn’t enough to stop him from behaving like a kid inlove.

He was entertaining the thought of clearing thetable so he could have her on it instead when the back door opened on Peeta.Effie immediately patted her blond hair self-consciously – wigs might not befashionable anymore but she still spent a good thirty minutes styling her hairevery morning regardless – her foot discreetly retreating away from his ankle.

“Good morning, dear!” she greeted with herusual cheer. “Would you care for some coffee?”

Haymitch stood up to pour one for the boy whenhe nodded, gently pulling Effie’s silk dressing gown close with one hand on theway because it was open wide on a lacy red nightgown that had Peeta’s ear growred. She tightened the belt with a flush and a small wince. She still mindedthe kids barging in without warning, Haymitch had long grown used to it. Still,that meant that she wasn’t always presentable and that wasn’t settling rightwith her.

He didn’t mind so much. If Peeta was botheredby his lack of shirt, he didn’t let on.

“Where’s Katniss?” he asked, scratching hischest while he poured him coffee.

“In the woods.” the boy offered, alreadysitting at the table. “She thinks she saw a deer yesterday. She said she wantedto try and track it down.”

“Would be good.” he approved. A few people hadcome back but rebuilding Twelve was a huge endeavor and resources were scarce.The government was sending rations over but an addition of meat wouldn’t hurt.If Katniss caught a deer there would be plenty for everyone.

They chatted a little about the rebuildingwhile Peeta drank his coffee, wondering if more people would choose to comeback and if Paylor would soon send the working crew she had promised. Effiekept toying with her hair and hurried in finishing her mug, clearlyuncomfortable being in such an improper outfit in front of the boy. She excusedherself quickly and disappeared upstairs to get ready, leaving him and Peetaalone.

He didn’t realize immediately that somethingwas odd. It was only after the fifth awkward glance Peeta gave him that hefrowned, not quite understanding while the tips of the boy’s ears were stillred when Effie’s infamous crimson nightgown had disappeared from the room.“Something you want to tell me, kid?”

“I wanted to talk to you about something.”Peeta hesitated.

“Sounds serious.” he snorted, taking a bite ofthe toast Effie hadn’t finished.

“I was wondering if you could tell me aboutgirls.” the boy spat out in one rushed breath.

Haymitch choked on the piece of toast and Peetaimmediately slapped his back only stopping when he shot him an incredulouslook. “You want me to give you the talk?”

“No!” Peeta protested, red in the face now.

Fair was fair, Haymitch was fairly sure he wasequally flushed. “Then, what?”

“You’ve been with women before…” the boycringed. “More than one, I’m assuming.”

“Geez,kid, you don’t mess around, do you?” he chuckled because it was either laughingabout it or being mortified. “Yeah, I’ve been with more than one. More than two or three dozen probably.”

Peeta made a face at that. “Well, I haven’t. And Katniss and I…”

“Ah, ah, ah.”He stopped him right there, lifting both hands in the air. “You wanna have that sort of talk, we ain’t mentioning Katniss.”

“She will have to sort of be involved at somepoint.” the boy joked and Haymitch shook his head, wishing he could wipe theimages that it conjured out of his mind. “Okay, okay! No mention of Katniss.”

“Good.” he sighed in relief, rubbing his eyes.“So what are you asking, here?”

Peeta wavered, distractedly playing with thebutter knife. “Last night, we…”

“We,as in you and a totally hypothetical girl who isn’t the closest thing I have toa daughter.” he muttered to himself.

“Yeah, thatwe.” the boy snorted but his amusement faded fast into awkwardness again.“Things got a little heated? She had a nightmare and she came to sleep with meand… We kissed and it just kind of got… Out of hands?”

“Please, tell me you’re not trying to tell meyou’ve slept with her without protection and now there might be a Mockingjayfledgling on the way.” he begged. “’Cause that’s the thing you want to go to Effie about. Not gonna lie, she’s gonnascream but she probably has a solution too. Me, it’s just gonna get my bloodpressure higher and then I’m gonna try to strangle you.”

“We didn’t sleep together.” Peeta sighed.

“Oh, good.” he said in relief. Then he shot alook at the kid and amended “Well, maybe not for you.”

Where was booze when you needed some? He hadn’ttouched a drop since Thirteen. Not exactly by choice either. Twelve wasn’texactly well supplied and he couldn’t go through another withdrawal. And,really, with Effie and the kids there, it wasn’t so bad. He wanted to trysobriety for a while. For old times’ sakes. To see if he could actually makesomething of life.

“I just feel we could get there soon, youknow?” the boy said.

“I’d rather notto.” he admitted. But he would make sure the kids were well-stocked in condoms.And he would also make sure Effie had a talk with Katniss about getting her onthe pill. They so weren’t dealingwith a baby right then.

Peeta’s face closed and he slumped a little inhis chair. “Fine. Forget I said anything. I knew it would be weird to ask you anyway.”

“Why did you?” he whined a little, standing upto clear the table. That would please Effie and that would give him somethingto do. Two birds with one shittystone.

“You see a lot of older men in my life rightnow?” the boy scoffed. “I’m sure Doctor Aurelius wouldn’t mind spending ournext session giving me sex pointers.”

Fair was fair.

He hadn’t had much more guidance thefirst time he had been with a girl but he had been listening to Chaff for longenough that he knew more about sex than was needed at that point anyway.

“Okay.” he relented and he was going to regretit, he already knew it. “Shoot. What do you want to know?”

The look of relief on Peeta’s face wasunmistakable. “I want to make it good for her.”

“First times are awkward and it’s worse forwomen.” he countered without thinking.

“Have you ever been with a girl who had neverdone it before?” the kid asked.

That was the kind of things he hadn’t mindtalking about with Chaff, Beetee and Blight so much. With Finnick on occasions.Peeta, though… Peeta was too close to a son and it was really weird. Or maybe it was the lack of liquor that made it soodd.

He kept on putting everything away, thinking hemight just do the dishes because it would keep his back to the room and thatwould be way easier to have thisconversation that way.

“Yeah.” he answered at last. “My first time.”

“Oh, so you were both…” Peeta hesitated.

“Yeah.” he nodded, deciding he was definitely going to do the dishes. Andmake it last. “Wasn’t that bad. It was sweet, even. We didn’t really know whatwe were doing but figuring it out is part of the fun.”

“How old were you?” the boy asked.

Haymitch watched the hot water pool in the sinkand added the soap as an afterthought. The memories weren’t bad but likeeverything in his life, they were so tightly entwined with the Games that…“Nineteen.” There was only silence behind him and Haymitch glanced at the boyover his shoulder, an amused smirk on his lips. “Not the answer you expected,kid?”

Peeta gave him a sheepish shrug. “I thoughtyou’d have started younger. With the Quell and everything… I thought girlswould have been all over you.”

“They were.” he confirmed, turning back to thesink. “Might surprise you to hear but I’m a one woman man. And I was in noplace for that after my Games.”

“Sorry.” the boy offered genuinely enough. “Thewoman… Was she your first time?”

“Thought we were gonna talk about you.” he snapped but then he took a deepbreath and tried to calm down. The kid was just curious. “No, she wasn’t. TheCapitol killed my girlfriend along with my family after my Games. Thought thegirl would have told you.”

It wasn’t getting any easier to say the wordsor to talk about them but every time he managed, he felt a weight lift off hischest.

“I’m sorry, Haymitch.” Peeta said. “I didn’twant to bring back bad memories.”

He focused on washing Effie’s pink mugthoroughly, trying to keep his shaking hands under control. “They’re not. Badmemories. Just…”

“Difficult?” the boy suggested.

He gave a grunt in answer and he volunteeredthe rest because he was sure Peeta would ask anyway. “The girl I was with? Shewas a victor from Eight. Alina. I liked her. Didn’t love her but I liked her.” He didn’t clarify what had happened toher, the mere fact that she had been a victor was self-explanatory. The war hadtaken care of their specie. “It wasn’t awesome but it was okay. It gets betterwith experience. Thing is, sex isn’t… It’s supposed to be fun, yeah?”

He finally rinsed Effie’s mug and placed it onthe drying rack, deciding it was more than clean enough. He moved on to thenext one. He had rinsed it and put it with the other one when Peeta spokeagain.

“I don’t want it to be just… fun. I want it to mean something.” the kid argued. “I love her. I don’t want her tothink that I just want… I do wantit but that’s not all I want.”

He sighed and dropped the dishes pretence toturn around and study the boy. “Sex can be fun and still mean something. You don’t want to make a big deal out of it‘cause you’re both gonna be tense and it’s gonna be awful. The more pressureyou put on yourself, the worse it’s gonna be. Just be respectful of what shewants. Make sure she’s okay when you do something new. If she doesn’t like it,just do something else. And make sure she’s ready before you… You know.”

Peeta cleared his throat, deliberately avertinghis eyes. “How do I know when to…”

“For fuck’ssake.” Haymitch cursed, lifting his own eyes to the ceilings because really. Somewhere Chaff was laughing hisass off at him, he could see it. He hadn’t signed up for this when he haddecided to mentor the boy. “Okay.Asking is never a bad idea.”

“Won’t that ruin the mood?” Peeta winced.

“Less than if you accidentally hurt her.” hedeadpanned. “After a while… Well, you get to a point where you know the otherperson’s body, yeah? You don’t need them to tell you anymore but at first…Yeah, asking is definitely the thing to do.”

“Alright.” the boy said. “And… How do I knowif…”

“The wetter the better.” He rushed the wordsout quickly and thought about everything butKatniss. This wasn’t about Katniss.This wasn’t about Katniss. Or aboutthe fact that he would probably neverhave sex again after that really, reallyawkward brand of conversation. “Ask what works for her. Show her what works foryou.” He tossed the kid a distressed look. “Anything else you need to know?”

Peeta shook his head and bolted out of hischair. “Thank you, Haymitch. I’m sorry it was awkward but I really needed totalk about it with someone and…”

“It’s alright.” He made a face. “That’s whatI’m here for, yeah? Well, not just the sex talks but…”

Mentoring.

“Thanks.” Peeta insisted.

Haymitch wasn’t sorry to see him dash back tohis own house truth be told.

He breathed a sigh of relief and left thekitchen, intending to go for a long shower that hopefully would get his mind offthat conversation. He hadn’t been expecting to find Effie leaning against thehallway’s wall, just out of sight, a mocking grin on her red painted lips. Shewas dressed in a tight blue dress and it was a shame he had just sworn off sexbecause…

“The wetter the better.” she repeated, clearlyhaving difficulties keeping her amusement in check. “You are such a poet with words, Haymitch.”

“How much of that did you hear?” he groaned.

She shook her head, her grin turning into areal smile. “I think you handled that very well.”

“Most awkward conversation of my life.” hemumbled, rubbing his face.

He felt himself being pushed against the walland he didn’t resist, smirking when she pressed her body closer to his, herlips brushing his ear. “Shall I show you what works for me and let you tell mewhat works for you, darling? Would that help?”

She strutted away before he could answer.

It only took him two strides to grab her aroundthe waist and bring her back.

[readbookywooks]

20. "Peeta!" I scream. I shake him harder, even resort to slapping his face, but it's no use. His heart has failed. I am slapping emptiness. "Peeta!" Finnick props Mags against a tree and pushes me out of the way. "Let me." His fingers touch points at Peeta's neck, run over the bones in his ribs and spine. Then he pinches Peeta's nostrils shut. "No!" I yell, hurling myself at Finnick, for surely he intends to make certain that Peeta's dead, to keep any hope of life from returning to him. Finnick's hand comes up and hits me so hard, so squarely in the chest that I go flying back into a nearby tree trunk. I'm stunned for a moment, by the pain, by trying to regain my wind, as I see Finnick close off Peeta's nose again. From where I sit, I pull an arrow, whip the notch into place, and am about to let it fly when I'm stopped by the sight of Finnick kissing Peeta. And it's so bizarre, even for Finnick, that I stay my hand. No, he's not kissing him. He's got Peeta's nose blocked off but his mouth tilted open, and he's blowing air into his lungs. I can see this, I can actually see Peeta's chest rising and falling. Then Finnick unzips the top of Peeta's jumpsuit and begins to pump the spot over his heart with the heels of his hands. Now that I've gotten through my shock, I understand what he's trying to do. Once in a blue moon, I've seen my mother try something similar, but not often. If your heart fails in District 12, it's unlikely your family could get you to my mother in time, anyway. So her usual patients are burned or wounded or ill. Or starving, of course. But Finnick's world is different. Whatever he's doing, he's done it before. There's a very set rhythm and method. And I find the arrow tip sinking to the ground as I lean in to watch, desperately, for some sign of success. Agonizing minutes drag past as my hopes diminish. Around the time that I'm deciding it's too late, that Peeta's dead, moved on, unreachable forever, he gives a small cough and Finnick sits back. I leave my weapons in the dirt as I fling myself at him. "Peeta?" I say softly. I brush the damp blond strands of hair back from his forehead, find the pulse drumming against my fingers at his neck. His lashes flutter open and his eyes meet mine. "Careful," he says weakly. "There's a force field up ahead." I laugh, but there are tears running down my cheeks. "Must be a lot stronger than the one on the Training Center roof," he says. "I'm all right, though. Just a little shaken." "You were dead! Your heart stopped!" I burst out, before really considering if this is a good idea. I clap my hand over my mouth because I'm starting to make those awful choking sounds that happen when I sob. "Well, it seems to be working now," he says. "It's all right, Katniss." I nod my head but the sounds aren't stopping. "Katniss?" Now Peeta's worried about me, which adds to the insanity of it all. "It's okay. It's just her hormones," says Finnick. "From the baby." I look up and see him, sitting back on his knees but still panting a bit from the climb and the heat and the effort of bringing Peeta back from the dead. "No. It's not - " I get out, but I'm cut off by an even more hysterical round of sobbing that seems only to confirm what Finnick said about the baby. He meets my eyes and I glare at him through my tears. It's stupid, I know, that his efforts make me so vexed. All I wanted was to keep Peeta alive, and I couldn't and Finnick could, and I should be nothing but grateful. And I am. But I am also furious because it means that I will never stop owing Finnick Odair. Ever. So how can I kill him in his sleep? I expect to see a smug or sarcastic expression on his face, but his look is strangely quizzical. He glances between Peeta and me, as if trying to figure something out, then gives his head a slight shake as if to clear it. "How are you?" he asks Peeta. "Do you think you can move on?" "No, he has to rest," I say. My nose is running like crazy and I don't even have a shred of fabric to use as a handkerchief. Mags rips off a handful of hanging moss from a tree limb and gives it to me. I'm too much of a mess to even question it. I blow my nose loudly and mop the tears off my face. It's nice, the moss. Absorbent and surprisingly soft. I notice a gleam of gold on Peeta's chest. I reach out and retrieve the disk that hangs from a chain around his neck. My mockingjay has been engraved on it. "Is this your token?" I ask. "Yes. Do you mind that I used your mockingjay? I wanted us to match," he says. "No, of course I don't mind." I force a smile. Peeta showing up in the arena wearing a mockingjay is both a blessing and a curse. On the one hand, it should give a boost to the rebels in the district. On the other, it's hard to imagine President Snow will overlook it, and that makes the job of keeping Peeta alive harder. "So you want to make camp here, then?" Finnick asks. "I don't think that's an option," Peeta answers. "Staying here. With no water. No protection. I feel all right, really. If we could just go slowly." "Slowly would be better than not at all." Finnick helps Peeta to his feet while I pull myself together. Since I got up this morning I've watched Cinna beaten to a pulp, landed in another arena, and seen Peeta die. Still, I'm glad Finnick keeps playing the pregnancy card for me, because from a sponsor's point of view, I'm not handling things all that well. I check over my weapons, which I know are in perfect condition, because it makes me seem more in control. "I'll take the lead," I announce. Peeta starts to object but Finnick cuts him off. "No, let her do it." He frowns at me. "You knew that force field was there, didn't you? Right at the last second? You started to give a warning." I nod. "How did you know?" I hesitate. To reveal that I know Beetee and Wiress's trick of recognizing a force field could be dangerous. I don't know if the Gamemakers made note of that moment during training when the two pointed it out to me or not. One way or the other, I have a very valuable piece of information. And if they know I have it, they might do something to alter the force field so I can't see the aberration anymore. So I lie. "I don't know. It's almost as if I could hear it. Listen." We all become still. There's the sound of insects, birds, the breeze in the foliage. "I don't hear anything," says Peeta. "Yes," I insist, "it's like when the fence around District Twelve is on, only much, much quieter." Everyone listens again intently. I do, too, although there's nothing to hear. "There!" I say. "Can't you hear it? It's coming from right where Peeta got shocked." "I don't hear it, either," says Finnick. "But if you do, by all means, take the lead." I decide to play this for all it's worth. "That's weird," I say. I turn my head from side to side as if puzzled. "I can only hear it out of my left ear." "The one the doctors reconstructed?" asks Peeta. "Yeah," I say, then give a shrug. "Maybe they did a better job than they thought. You know, sometimes I do hear funny things on that side. Things you wouldn't ordinarily think have a sound. Like insect wings. Or snow hitting the ground." Perfect. Now all the attention will turn to the surgeons who fixed my deaf ear after the Games last year, and they'll have to explain why I can hear like a bat. "You," says Mags, nudging me forward, so I take the lead. Since we're to be moving slowly, Mags prefers to walk with the aid of a branch Finnick quickly fashions into a cane for her. He makes a staff for Peeta as well, which is good because, despite his protestations, I think all Peeta really wants to do is lie down. Finnick brings up the rear, so at least someone alert has our backs. I walk with the force field on my left, because that's supposed to be the side with my superhuman ear. But since that's all made up, I cut down a bunch of hard nuts that hang like grapes from a nearby tree and toss them ahead of me as I go. It's good I do, too, because I have a feeling I'm missing the patches that indicate the force field more often than I'm spotting them. Whenever a nut hits the force field, there's a puff of smoke before the nut lands, blackened and with a cracked shell, on the ground at my feet. After a few minutes I become aware of a smacking sound behind me and turn to see Mags peeling the shell off one of the nuts and popping it in her already-full mouth. "Mags!" I cry. "Spit that out. It could be poisonous." She mumbles something and ignores me, licking her lips with apparent relish. I look to Finnick for help but he just laughs. "I guess we'll find out," he says. I go forward, wondering about Finnick, who saved old Mags but will let her eat strange nuts. Who Haymitch has stamped with his seal of approval. Who brought Peeta back from the dead. Why didn't he just let him die? He would have been blameless. I never would have guessed it was in his power to revive him. Why could he possibly have wanted to save Peeta? And why was he so determined to team up with me? Willing to kill me, too, if it comes to that. But leaving the choice of if we fight to me. I keep walking, tossing my nuts, sometimes catching a glimpse of the force field, trying to press to the left to find a spot where we can break through, get away from the Cornucopia, and hopefully find water. But after another hour or so of this I realize it's futile. We're not making any progress to the left. In fact, the force field seems to be herding us along a curved path. I stop and look back at Mags's limping form, the sheen of sweat on Peeta's face. "Let's take a break," I say. "I need to get another look from above." The tree I choose seems to jut higher into the air than the others. I make my way up the twisting boughs, staying as close to the trunk as possible. No telling how easily these rubbery branches will snap. Still I climb beyond good sense because there's something I have to see. As I cling to a stretch of trunk no wider than a sapling, swaying back and forth in the humid breeze, my suspicions are confirmed. There's a reason we can't turn to the left, will never be able to. From this precarious vantage point, I can see the shape of the whole arena for the first time. A perfect circle. With a perfect wheel in the middle. The sky above the circumference of the jungle is tinged a uniform pink. And I think I can make out one or two of those wavy squares, chinks in the armor, Wiress and Beetee called them, because they reveal what was meant to be hidden and are therefore a weakness. Just to make absolutely sure, I shoot an arrow into the empty space above the tree line. There's a spurt of light, a flash of real blue sky, and the arrow's thrown back into the jungle. I climb down to give the others the bad news. "The force field has us trapped in a circle. A dome, really. I don't know how high it goes. There's the Cornucopia, the sea, and then the jungle all around. Very exact. Very symmetrical. And not very large," I say. "Did you see any water?" asks Finnick. "Only the saltwater where we started the Games," I say. "There must be some other source," says Peeta, frowning. "Or we'll all be dead in a matter of days." "Well, the foliage is thick. Maybe there are ponds or springs somewhere," I say doubtfully. I instinctively feel the Capitol might want these unpopular Games over as soon as possible. Plutarch Heavensbee might have already been given orders to knock us off. "At any rate, there's no point in trying to find out what's over the edge of this hill, because the answer is nothing." "There must be drinkable water between the force field and the wheel," Peeta insists. We all know what this means. Heading back down. Heading back to the Careers and the bloodshed. With Mags hardly able to walk and Peeta too weak to fight. We decide to move down the slope a few hundred yards and continue circling. See if maybe there's some water at that level. I stay in the lead, occasionally chucking a nut to my left, but we're well out of range of the force field now. The sun beats down on us, turning the air to steam, playing tricks on our eyes. By midafternoon, it's clear Peeta and Mags can't go on. Finnick chooses a campsite about ten yards below the force field, saying we can use it as a weapon by deflecting our enemies into it if attacked. Then he and Mags pull blades of the sharp grass that grows in five-foot-high tufts and begin to weave them together into mats. Since Mags seems to have no ill effects from the nuts, Peeta collects bunches of them and fries them by bouncing them off the force field. He methodically peels off the shells, piling the meats on a leaf. I stand guard, fidgety and hot and raw with the emotions of the day. Thirsty. I am so thirsty. Finally I can't stand it anymore. "Finnick, why don't you stand guard and I'll hunt around some more for water," I say. No one's thrilled with the idea of me going off alone, but the threat of dehydration hangs over us. "Don't worry, I won't go far," I promise Peeta. "I'll go, too," he says. "No, I'm going to do some hunting if I can," I tell him. I don't add, "And you can't come because you're too loud." But it's implied. He would both scare off prey and endanger me with his heavy tread. "I won't be long." I move stealthily through the trees, happy to find that the ground lends itself to soundless footsteps. I work my way down at a diagonal, but I find nothing except more lush, green plant life. The sound of the cannon brings me to a halt. The initial bloodbath at the Cornucopia must be over. The death toll of the tributes is now available. I count the shots, each representing one dead victor. Eight. Not as many as last year. But it seems like more since I know most of their names. Suddenly weak, I lean against a tree to rest, feeling the heat draw the moisture from my body like a sponge. Already, swallowing is difficult and fatigue is creeping up on me. I try rubbing my hand across my belly, hoping some sympathetic pregnant woman will become my sponsor and Haymitch can send in some water. No luck. I sink to the ground. In my stillness, I begin to notice the animals: strange birds with brilliant plumage, tree lizards with flickering blue tongues, and something that looks like a cross between a rat and a possum clinging on the branches close to the trunk. I shoot one of the latter out of a tree to get a closer look. It's ugly, all right, a big rodent with a fuzz of mottled gray fur and two wicked-looking gnawing teeth protruding over its lower lip. As I'm gutting and skinning it, I notice something else. Its muzzle is wet. Like an animal that's been drinking from a stream. Excited, I start at its home tree and move slowly out in a spiral. It can't be far, the creature's water source. Nothing. I find nothing. Not so much as a dewdrop. Eventually, because I know Peeta will be worried about me, I head back to the camp, hotter and more frustrated than ever. When I arrive, I see the others have transformed the place. Mags and Finnick have created a hut of sorts out of the grass mats, open on one side but with three walls, a floor, and a roof. Mags has also plaited several bowls that Peeta has filled with roasted nuts. Their faces turn to me hopefully, but I give my head a shake. "No. No water. It's out there, though. He knew where it was," I say, hoisting the skinned rodent up for all to see. "He'd been drinking recently when I shot him out of a tree, but I couldn't find his source. I swear, I covered every inch of ground in a thirty-yard radius." "Can we eat him?" Peeta asks. "I don't know for sure. But his meat doesn't look that different from a squirrel's. He ought to be cooked... ." I hesitate as I think of trying to start a fire out here from complete scratch. Even if I succeed, there's the smoke to think about. We're all so close together in this arena, there's no chance of hiding it. Peeta has another idea. He takes a cube of rodent meat, skewers it on the tip of a pointed stick, and lets it fall into the force field. There's a sharp sizzle and the stick flies back. The chunk of meat is blackened on the outside but well cooked inside. We give him a round of applause, then quickly stop, remembering where we are. The white sun sinks in the rosy sky as we gather in the hut. I'm still leery about the nuts, but Finnick says Mags recognized them from another Games. I didn't bother spending time at the edible-plants station in training because it was so effortless for me last year. Now I wish I had. For surely there would have been some of the unfamiliar plants surrounding me. And I might have guessed a bit more about where I was headed. Mags seems fine, though, and she's been eating the nuts for hours. So I pick one up and take a small bite. It has a mild, slightly sweet flavor that reminds me of a chestnut. I decide it's all right. The rodent's strong and gamey but surprisingly juicy. Really, it's not a bad meal for our first night in the arena. If only we had something to wash it down with. Finnick asks a lot of questions about the rodent, which we decide to call a tree rat. How high was it, how long did I watch it before I shot, and what was it doing? I don't remember it doing much of anything. Snuffling around for insects or something. I'm dreading the night. At least the tightly woven grass offers some protection from whatever slinks across the jungle floor after hours. But a short time before the sun slips below the horizon, a pale white moon rises, making things just visible enough. Our conversation trails off because we know what's coming. We position ourselves in a line at the mouth of the hut and Peeta slips his hand into mine. The sky brightens when the seal of the Capitol appears as if floating in space. As I listen to the strains of the anthem I think, It will be harder for Finnick and Mags. But it turns out to be plenty hard for me as well. Seeing the faces of the eight dead victors projected into the sky. The man from District 5, the one Finnick took out with his trident, is the first to appear. That means that all the tributes in 1 through 4 are alive - the four Careers, Beetee and Wiress, and, of course, Mags and Finnick. The man from District 5 is followed by the male morphling from 6, Cecelia and Woof from 8, both from 9, the woman from 10, and Seeder from 11. The Capitol seal is back with a final bit of music and then the sky goes dark except for the moon. No one speaks. I can't pretend I knew any of them well. But I'm thinking of those three kids hanging on to Cecelia when they took her away. Seeder's kindness to me at our meeting. Even the thought of the glazed-eyed morphling painting my cheeks with yellow flowers gives me a pang. All dead. All gone. I don't know how long we might have sat here if it weren't for the arrival of the silver parachute, which glides down through the foliage to land before us. No one reaches for it. "Whose is it, do you think?" I say finally. "No telling," says Finnick. "Why don't we let Peeta claim it, since he died today?" Peeta unties the cord and flattens out the circle of silk. On the parachute sits a small metal object that I can't place. "What is it?" I ask. No one knows. We pass it from hand to hand, taking turns examining it. It's a hollow metal tube, tapered slightly at one end. On the other end a small lip curves downward. It's vaguely familiar. A part that could have fallen off a bicycle, a curtain rod, anything, really. Peeta blows on one end to see if it makes a sound. It doesn't. Finnick slides his pinkie into it, testing it out as a weapon. Useless. "Can you fish with it, Mags?" I ask. Mags, who can fish with almost anything, shakes her head and grunts. I take it and roll it back and forth on my palm. Since we're allies, Haymitch will be working with the District 4 mentors. He had a hand in choosing this gift. That means it's valuable. Lifesaving, even. I think back to last year, when I wanted water so badly, but he wouldn't send it because he knew I could find it if I tried. Haymitch's gifts, or lack thereof, carry weighty messages. I can almost hear him growling at me, Use your brain if you have one. What is it? I wipe the sweat from my eyes and hold the gift out in the moonlight. I move it this way and that, viewing it from different angles, covering portions and then revealing them. Trying to make it divulge its purpose to me. Finally, in frustration, I jam one end into the dirt. "I give up. Maybe if we hook up with Beetee or Wiress they can figure it out. I stretch out, pressing my hot cheek on the grass mat, staring at the thing in aggravation. Peeta rubs a tense spot between my shoulders and I let myself relax a little. I wonder why this place hasn't cooled off at all now that the sun's gone down. I wonder what's going on back home. Prim. My mother. Gale. Madge. I think of them watching me from home. At least I hope they're at home. Not taken into custody by Thread. Being punished as Cinna is. As Darius is. Punished because of me. Everybody. I begin to ache for them, for my district, for my woods. A decent woods with sturdy hardwood trees, plentiful food, game that isn't creepy. Rushing streams. Cool breezes. No, cold winds to blow this stifling heat away. I conjure up such a wind in my mind, letting it freeze my cheeks and numb my fingers, and all at once, the piece of metal half buried in the black earth has a name. "A spile!" I exclaim, sitting bolt upright. "What?" asks Finnick. I wrestle the thing from the ground and brush it clean. Cup my hand around the tapered end, concealing it, and look at the lip. Yes, I've seen one of these before. On a cold, windy day long ago, when I was out in the woods with my father. Inserted snugly into a hole drilled in the side of a maple. A pathway for the sap to follow as it flowed into our bucket. Maple syrup could make even our dull bread a treat. After my father died, I didn't know what happened to the handful of spiles he had. Hidden out in the woods somewhere, probably. Never to be found. "It's a spile. Sort of like a faucet. You put it in a tree and sap comes out." I look at the sinewy green trunks around me. "Well, the right sort of tree." "Sap?" asks Finnick. They don't have the right kind of trees by the sea, either. "To make syrup," says Peeta. "But there must be something else inside these trees." We're all on our feet at once. Our thirst. The lack of springs. The tree rat's sharp front teeth and wet muzzle. There can only be one thing worth having inside these trees. Finnick goes to hammer the spile into the green bark of a massive tree with a rock, but I stop him. "Wait. You might damage it. We need to drill a hole first," I say. There's nothing to drill with, so Mags offers her awl and Peeta drives it straight into the bark, burying the spike two inches deep. He and Finnick take turns opening up the hole with the awl and the knives until it can hold the spile. I wedge it in carefully and we all stand back in anticipation. At first nothing happens. Then a drop of water rolls down the lip and lands in Mags's palm. She licks it off and holds out her hand for more. By wiggling and adjusting the spile, we get a thin stream running out. We take turns holding our mouths under the tap, wetting our parched tongues. Mags brings over a basket, and the grass is so tightly woven it holds water. We fill the basket and pass it around, taking deep gulps and, later, luxuriously, splashing our faces clean. Like everything here, the water's on the warm side, but this is no time to be picky. Without our thirst to distract us, we're all aware of how exhausted we are and make preparations for the night. Last year, I always tried to have my gear ready in case I had to make a speedy retreat in the night. This year, there's no backpack to prepare. Just my weapons, which won't leave my grasp, anyway. Then I think of the spile and wrest it from the tree trunk. I strip a tough vine of its leaves, thread it through the hollow center, and tie the spile securely to my belt. Finnick offers to take the first watch and I let him, knowing it has to be one of the two of us until Peeta's rested up. I lie down beside Peeta on the floor of the hut, telling Finnick to wake me when he's tired. Instead I find myself jarred from sleep a few hours later by what seems to be the tolling of a bell. Bong! Bong! It's not exactly like the one they ring in the Justice Building on New Year's but close enough for me to recognize it. Peeta and Mags sleep through it, but Finnick has the same look of attentiveness I feel. The tolling stops. "I counted twelve," he says. I nod. Twelve. What does that signify? One ring for each district? Maybe. But why? "Mean anything, do you think?" "No idea," he says. We wait for further instructions, maybe a message from Claudius Templesmith. An invitation to a feast. The only thing of note appears in the distance. A dazzling bolt of electricity strikes a towering tree and then a lightning storm begins. I guess it's an indication of rain, of a water source for those who don't have mentors as smart as Haymitch. "Go to sleep, Finnick. It's my turn to watch, anyway," I say. Finnick hesitates, but no one can stay awake forever. He settles down at the mouth of the hut, one hand gripped around a trident, and drifts into a restless sleep. I sit with my bow loaded, watching the jungle, which is ghostly pale and green in the moonlight. After an hour or so, the lightning stops. I can hear the rain coming in, though, pattering on the leaves a few hundred yards away. I keep waiting for it to reach us but it never does. The sound of the cannon startles me, although it makes little impression on my sleeping companions. There's no point in awakening them for this. Another victor dead. I don't even allow myself to wonder who it is. The elusive rain shuts off suddenly, like the storm did last year in the arena. Moments after it stops, I see the fog sliding softly in from the direction of the recent downpour. Just a reaction. Cool rain on the steaming ground, I think. It continues to approach at a steady pace. Tendrils reach forward and then curl like fingers, as if they are pulling the rest behind them. As I watch, I feel the hairs on my neck begin to rise. Something's wrong with this fog. The progression of the front line is too uniform to be natural. And if it's not natural ... A sickeningly sweet odor begins to invade my nostrils and I reach for the others, shouting for them to wake up. In the few seconds it takes to rouse them, I begin to blister.

[ilguna]

Metanoia - Chapter One (f.o)

Summary: you will be crowned victor of the 75th hunger games.

Word Count; 4.9k

Warnings; swearing

NOTES: i give reader a last name to fit the world.

–

This might be it. This might just be the first time you’re feeling emotion that doesn’t belong to yourself. And all you can say about it is: it’s completely awful. It’s nothing close to what your mother had told you about. Right now, it feels like you’re a prisoner in your own body, and you’re not being allowed to feel for yourself.

Whoever your soulmate is, they’re obviously empathetic to the point that it’s crippling. Imagine being this grief-ridden on reaping day. You can’t fathom the idea that any regular person would feel this bad for people. So there’s really a couple of things that might be going on. 

One, your soulmate is a friend of a victor, and they’re worried that their favorite person is going to get pulled to go back inside. Two, they’re family of a victor and it’s the same thing. Three, it’s an empathetic person--which you can’t stand. Or four, it’s a victor themself.

No matter the way it goes, their emotion is cancelling out yours. You don’t want to be full of sorrow, you know for a fact that somewhere deep in your body, you’re absolutely bubbling with excitement. You’ve been looking forward to today ever since the games were announced in the winter.

Today is the day.

And yet, you can’t pull yourself out of bed. You’ve been staring at the white ceiling for at least an hour now, setting yourself back. It’s like all the enthusiasm has been drained from your body, and you’re actually regretting your decision.

A slight shiver runs through your body at that thought. You draw the line there, you’re not going to regret anything. 

Pushing yourself up, you slide out of the silk bed sheets before you can change your mind and go back to laziness. You don’t bother fixing the blankets, not really caring for the fact that they’re in disarray. You never make the bed, and you won’t start on it today either. It’s a tactic of stalling, and there’s no reason for you to.

Before the shower, you decide on picking out the dress. Something gold and glittery, which is just about the entire wardrobe. You didn’t actually buy any of these dresses, they were all given as a gift from your stylists or Capitol citizens when you spent your summer after the games, inside of the Capitol.

You pick out a floor-length dress that’s a mix between black and gold. Two set colors that you can match easily. You kick out the heels that are also black and somewhat glittery. They don’t have the actual heel part to them, but they are engineered to look like it, and they’re pretty easy to walk in. They’re always your go-to when it comes to special things like this. 

The dress is only a little bit poofy, and it’s on the lower half. Either way, it goes down to the floor, and there should be no chance of anyone seeing your feet to know that you’re reusing another pair of shoes. There’s a v-neck plunge, but it doesn’t show much skin, you still look pretty modest. In the back, it’s open.

It’s definitely a dress you could find yourself wearing during the interviews with Caesar. Or a dress you would have worn after your first tribute had won the hunger games. You’ve only mentored twice, and both of them came out alive. After that, the job was handed onto them since they were the more recent victors.

All your jewelry resides on the white vanity, but you don’t bother picking those out. You toss the dress over the back of the chair, and move the shoes nearby so it won’t be a hunt. After that, you go ahead and get into the bathroom to take your shower.

You scrub your entire body clean, even though you know that you’ll be washed again inside of the Capitol about a dozen times. You do the basics to your hair, and when you get out, you’re putting product after product in so it’s ready when you do finally come around to it.

You pull on your undergarments, skipping your dress as you head downstairs for breakfast. There’s no shame in going downstairs half-naked. There’s no one else here to call you out on it.

You hit the bottom of the stairs, and while you’re navigating through the living room to get to the kitchen, you pause in the open doorway, a little surprised to see who’s sitting on the white loveseat.

Tanith is flipping through one of those books that are on the bookshelf for pure decoration. From here, you recognize the pink cover like you received the book yesterday, when it’s been years. A gift from your then-district representative, the cover reads in nice script writing, ‘how to get used to your new wealth’. Written by some asshole inside of the Capitol.

“Riveting.” Tanith looks up from the book, eyes landing on you. But she freezes, “God--I’m sorry--”

She covers her eyes, and you can’t help to laugh, “Really?”

You walk past her, heading into the kitchen. You dig through the fridge, pulling out some fresh fruits that you’d bought yesterday from the store. On top of that, you pull out a few eggs too, pop bread into the toaster, spray some cooking butter onto the pan so the eggs won’t stick, and work away.

“I should have knocked instead of walking inside.” She says, “That’s my fault.”

You shrug, “I have no shame, not after my time in the Capitol.”

“I expect not.” you can hear the light scraping of the stool against the tile floor, “You really want to go back inside?”

After the games had been announced, all the victors in the district had gathered together to have their own little meeting. Cipher the people who didn’t want to go back in, and make the ones who did, known. The old were automatically ruled out either way, whether they wanted to go inside or not, they’re too delusional. Old age has rotten their brains, some can’t think straight anymore.

There had been a good handful of people that wanted to go back inside. The only problem was that everyone wanted to do it based on capabilities again. To keep you guys on top of the pyramid as usual. You can’t send in someone who would die off immediately. Thus, a competition started.

As time went on, people were slowly weaned out. Based off of strength, fighting capabilities, who still knew the edible plants, the medical knowledge. If you were able to still present well, with the cute dresses, the white smiles, the charming personalities.

It brought it down to only a couple of you. Sorcha, an older woman in her forties who’s fit even after all these years. She’s arrogant--even more than you--and mean. She’s self-driven, disregards most of the people that come across her. She started off as a Capitol favorite, but now they see her as a total bitch.

Daleka, in her thirties and a very skilled fighter. She won her games by being completely ruthless. Her personality is likable, the Capitol complained when she stopped visiting and mentoring all together. Has a wife and a kid she adopted from the foster care place.

You, of course. Only twenty-five, still seen as somewhat fresh off of the arena. Nine years may seem like a long time to others, but not to you. Along that time, other districts have won too. Like Annie from four and Johanna from seven, and your most recently hated, Katniss and Peeta from twelve. 

But that doesn’t take away from the fact that you’re one of the top three for the most recent out of the arena. First would be Zavian, next would be Tanith, and then it would be you. Everything is still very fresh in your mind, since you were the one that had mentored both Zavian and Tanith. What you’re saying is, you’re a perfect candidate.

Anyway, the final girl that had wanted to go in was Enobaria. A Capitol favorite, like most of you are. Fierce, confident. She got her teeth filed to be sharp because of her signature win of ripping a tribute’s throat out. Fun to be around, nowhere near bubbly like some people think.

And for the boys, the list was quite large, and you wouldn’t be able to name all of them on one hand. The whole point of this is, there could only be one girl and one boy sent in. Therefore, the competition narrowed it down for everyone, as the challenges progressively got harder.

For boys, Brutus won. Tall, bald, muscular. He’s in his forties, but he looks to be about late thirties instead. He’s cocky, a complete pain in the ass, and he would be difficult to fight. But he’s an ally that you can’t deny wouldn’t be good to have at your side.

And for girls, you won it. You practically blew Sorcha and Daleka out of the water. Enobaria was much more difficult to shake, though. She’d obviously continued studying even after her games. You might have been a softie back in the academy, but you were a quick learner, and all of it stuck like it’d been glued with superglue. 

The volunteer is yours to have. And if you chose to back out, there would be no harm in it. That’s why Enobaria is there, she’s the backup in case you were to choose to do something like that. However, you didn’t fight tooth and nail with a bunch of bullies just to quit it. You want that win.

“Yes,” you answer Tanith’s question, “I do. Afraid I won’t win?”

She snorts, “Hardly. I’m afraid that you’ll be a murder machine.”

You look over your shoulder at her, “Have you eaten yet?” 

“No,” she says, and with that, you serve her the eggs, toast and berries. After that, you slide her the butter for her toast, “Thank you.”

As you go back to cook your own breakfast, you smile down at it, “Obviously you haven’t watched my games.”

“I was fifteen.” she objects, “I watched them. What I mean, is that I’m afraid you’ll become a murdering machine again.”

“That’s what all the victors are, not just me. Look back at anyone’s games from this district and you’ll see that.” you pop a strawberry into your mouth, “And it’s not like there’s much to lose, either.”

“This big old house?” she proposes, “Me?”

Tanith has uncomfortably clung onto you like a parental figure. She came straight from the foster care herself, an orphan. Academy took her when she turned eight, because obviously no one would miss her. She was just as deadly as you were, when she turned seventeen. You hand picked her yourself, even though there were ‘better candidates’ for it.

She’s your first winner, like how Zavian is your second. You were sure to keep him out of the same games with Tanith, knowing that it would screw the whole system. You’re fond of them equally, but unlike Zavian--who was eager to get away from you as fast as possible--Tanith has stuck around.

Take today as one of the many examples.

“I like how the house was your first priority to say.”

“You speak about this place like it’s a home base.” she reasons, “You seem to like it more than me, what can I say?”

You go ahead and plate all of your food, turning off the stove but leaving the pan. If you put it under water so soon, the metal will warp from the temperature change, and ruin it. It won’t sit right ever again.

You stand opposite of Tanith, leaning against the counter as you eat, “I wouldn’t say I like it more than you, that seems like an overstatement.” you decide to change the conversation, bored of this one, “Should I be worried about anyone else coming to visit?”

“Enobaria was.” Tanith says, picking at her egg, “She wanted to come and be the one to harass you about volunteering. I told her that I’d take the blow.”

“Smart girl.” you say, stabbing your fork into your egg, walking as the yolk runs out, and straight to your toast. The berries are long gone, “Well, I guess she’ll find out when I volunteer.”

“What’s the point of it, anyway?” she asks, “I mean, you have everything you could have wanted, right?”

“You and I don’t think the same.” you say, “You remind me of myself, back when I was on my victory tour.”

She gives you a confused look, “Is that compliment?”

“I’m more or less calling you humble.”

“Thanks…”

“And mushy, you’re an overthinker. You like the simple things, you won and now you’re done, right? You’re not bothered by the fact that you’re just another face, another name among this crowd of victors.” you take your time eating between sentences, “Me, on the other hand--who would give up the opportunity to be a living legend?”

She hums, nodding a little bit, not knowing what to say. It’s a rhetorical question, there’s a ton of people that have passed on this. But the idea is way too tempting. Possibly double the cash, and you literally get put into the books for not surviving once, but twice? The Capitol citizens love you now, wait until later.

You finish your breakfast quickly, taking your and Tanith’s plate as you move over to the sink, running water over them. Next, you go ahead and place the pan in there too.

“I’ve got to get ready, are you sticking around?”

“I should report back to Enobaria.” Tanith says, you can hear the chair again, “I could come back later with Emi, if you want.”

“Whatever.” you say, heading towards the staircase, “Don’t worry about me too much, kid. I’m unbreakable so far.”

“So far.” She echos.

There’s no goodbye as you go up. By now, your hair is pretty dry. In the bathroom attached to your bedroom, you go ahead and get ready now. You brush your hair, blow dry only a little bit, and then straighten. When you’re done with that, you curl and hairspray.

By the time you’ve moved onto makeup, Tanith is back with Emi already. Emi is older than the both of you, but she has more experience when it comes to some things. She picks out the jewelry for you, and does some of the harder parts of your makeup. The both of them work together to get you into the dress, and then help with the shoes too.

Standing in front of the floor-length mirror, you double check everything, asking yourself if this is what you want. With a few more turns, you decide that you’re going to get praise for the outfit choice. The Capitol will be impressed with how dressed up you got for it. Others might see it as some joke.

You have about thirty minutes before the reaping, which is when you go to leave the house. It isn’t until you’ve stopped at the door, when you realize that you’re missing some sort of token. You tilt your head from side to side, trying to remember what you wore in your first games.

A necklace, wasn’t it? Given to you by your then-boyfriend. He later broke up with you because of your performance inside of the games, which he wasn’t expecting at all in the slightest. Because of this, you kept the necklace as a reminder, it’s tortuous, and you wouldn’t be caught dead wearing it now.

“What are you waiting for?” Emi finally asks.

“I need a token.” you tell her, still staring at the staircase, distracted.

“Earrings, necklace, bracelet…” Emi urges slightly, “Ring?”

“No.” you tell her, “Wait--yes for the necklace.”

Your hand finds it, already dangling around your neck. Another gift, Tanith. Some souvenir she had gotten from the Capitol during her visit after she won. This will please her.

“Never mind, it’s on me.”

You leave the house, closing the door with a slam, since it’s a bit shifty when it comes to closing. After that, you wait at the bottom of the steps with the other two, watching as people come out of their houses, one by one. In no time, you’re all walking towards the stage in one big herd.

“Not everyone can visit you, but I definitely will.” Tanith says, “In the departing room, I mean.”

“Sweet.” you look over all the district people who dressed up nicely, despite the fact that they’re not going to be the ones going in. You catch the attention of a few people because of your out. You wonder if they know deep down that it’s because you’re going to volunteer.

“Zavian even agreed too. It was supposed to be a surprise but I know how you feel about them.”

It’s like showing up uninvited. Like her being inside of your house without any prior warning. You guess that’s somewhat your fault too, since you hadn’t talked to anyone yesterday. You were too amped up about today. It’s funny to you, that you were allowed to feel excited yesterday, but so unmotivated today.

Maybe your soulmate was full of anxiety this morning.

“Wanna know something cool?” you ask Tanith.

“Sure.” She looks over at you, but you’re still staring off at everyone you pass.

“I think I actually do have a soulmate.” 

Tanith gasps, covering her mouth. You look over at her, confused by the reaction, until you realize that it was genuine excitement, “Really? That’s good news! Why didn’t you tell me earlier?”

You shrug, “Didn’t see it as important. Haven’t heard anything from them in a long time, so I thought they were as good as dead.”

“It’s good news.” Tanith looks happy for you, “I wish I’d come across mine already.”

She looks down at her wrist, running her finger over the words.

“You’ve got plenty of time.” you tell her.

“Says you. You were so worried about it.” Tanith says, and before you can object, she adds: “Come on, admit it already.”

You give an exasperated sigh, “I suppose.”

She smiles a bit.

Tanith helps you up the staircase to the stage, which almost looks brand new. It isn’t though, it’s just pristine clean. Unlike the other districts, two is highly loved. Which means that the entire district is rich, except for a select few who were born in the poorer part of the district to begin with.

It just means that everything looks nice. The stage is white, it hardly had dirty footprints. You watch as some comes across with a broom to brush off the dirt after everyone has stepped onto the stage.

District Two is practically a second Capitol.

This year, no one sits in chairs. The girls stand on the right, in the back stand the tallest, and the front stand the shortest. You’re fairly tall, you’re able to see over most people’s heads. Most of the girls in the district manage to be short anyway, it was just the genes that you inherited that allowed you to be tall.

You’re given an easy escape route, the same as Enobaria as a backup. If your name is called, no one is allowed to volunteer over you. However, if you don’t volunteer fast enough, then that leaves it up to grabs. There’s a whole list of people that are dying to be able to go back inside.

Two people sit in chairs, waiting for everyone to file in and get comfortable below the stage. The first is the governor, a woman you’re not that fond of. She got on your nerves back when you had won your games. Back then, you were taking a lot of trips to the Capitol to have work done on your body. She was getting irritated about it.

The second person that sits next to the governor, is the district representative. A short man with loud opinions. He’s one of those people that you wouldn’t mind being thrown inside of the arena with. He’d likely be torn apart like the tributes are a pack of wolves. 

He thinks of you guys as used tissues. There’s been a couple of times when you’ve gotten in his face because of what he said. Nearly shredded him right then and there in front of a few peacekeepers and tributes. If people think you’re scary normally, then they haven’t seen you angry.

It’s a disappointment that he is the district rep. You wish he would jump off a cliff and die. 

Once everyone is in their respective places, the governor gives her speech that she gives every year. It’s the one about the dark days, a required speech. In the group of girls, you whisper the words in harmony. After she wraps it up, the rep moves forward.

His name is Theo, a boring name. Unbearably common and simple. You thought the Capitol people were supposed to be extravagant. This man is a disappointment in more than one way, it turns out.

“Happy hunger games!” His voice is what you’d like to also describe as ‘average’. Not deep, not high pitched. Average, “Let’s start with ladies first, shall we?”

As if it’s a question any of you are allowed to answer. You know someone in this group--mainly Sorcha--is dying to yell back ‘actually no, we shall not’ just to see his reaction. Forget the tributes being seen as monkeys, the Capitol people’s reactions are just as entertaining.

He sticks his white-gloved hand into the bowl, spinning his finger around while he puckers his face. He’s likely thinking, ‘Which one looks the most presentable?’

‘It doesn’t matter!’ you want to yell back, ‘I’m volunteering either way!’

It’s building up unnecessary tension. You scowl, eyes glued to his hand as he finally picks a damn slip of paper. He pulls it out, his suit sleeve nearly clipping the mouth of the bowl, and goes back over to the expensive microphone. He pulls off the black tape, and reads over the name.

“Tanith Nuova!” he smiles widely, looking over towards the girl section.

How funny, your own tribute getting called out. It’s a sign. If you didn’t have your mind made up before, you do now.

“I volunteer!” your voice rings out, no one is surprised.

You slide out of the section of girls, along the way, Tanith holds out her hand, and you slap it for a high-five. A small smirk appears over your face as you gracefully go to where you need to stand. One look at the choir of girls, and you can see that you’re nowhere near out of place with how you’re dressed. Plenty of people look like they’re also ready to head back to the Capitol.

Theo doesn’t look too thrilled, his face puckers again as he heads to the microphone, “(Y/n) Rosecelli for our girl.”

He moves over to the boys now, doing the exact same thing that he did the first time. You glare at him out of annoyance. You manage to catch the eyes of Brutus to see he’s shifting on his feet, clearly fed up with this too.

Theo finally gets to the point of it, “Cobalt Struyk--”

He barely gets out the last name when Brutus’ voice overpowers him, “I volunteer.”

Brutus comes over, standing in front of the boys bowl. Theo, scowling and hinting at the beginning of a temper tantrum, motions to the two of you, not even bothering to introduce Brutus.

You hold your hand out for Brutus, and he gives you a smirk as he takes it. Once you have a hold of each other, you turn towards the cameras, holding up your intertwined fingers, a giant grin on the both of your faces.

Two volunteers, it’s unsurprising to the entire nation. They’re expecting volunteers, but they definitely weren’t anticipating those who would step forward.

“Ladies and gentlemen, our tributes for the Quarter Quell!” Theo says after he managed to pull himself together. He skips the bit about shaking hands, and the two of you are then escorted off of the stage.

You begin in the direction of the departing room, noticing how the peacekeepers follow you and Brutus tightly. By the time you get to the building, Tanith and Zavian are already there, in your room.

“What’s with them being so stuffy?” you ask once the door shuts behind you.

“I heard a few districts are getting out of hand.” Zavian leans on the arm of the couch, “I guess it’s better safe than sorry.”

Another reason why you don’t like that Katniss girl, look at the mess she’s made of everything. It was fine before she came along, fucked up the process. Should’ve gotten over the fact that both of them couldn’t win. It’s not like Peeta was a use anyway. Like you’ve said before, deadweight on her fragile, little girl shoulders.

“Well, this is goodbye.” Zavian says, “Thanks for mentoring me.”

Tanith elbows him, giving him a glare, “You could at least be a little sympathetic, douchebag.”

He raises his eyebrows, “That’s a new one, what else are you gonna call me?”

For a second, they’re staring at each other. And then, Tanith grabs her arm like it’s going to detach itself. You watch in awe as she holds it out, looking down at the words.

“Oh, this is unbelievable.” Tanith now looks like her arm can detach, “I’ve been paired with a moron.”

Zavian doesn’t look that phased, taking one look at his arm, and then shrugging. Almost like nothing that went on in front of you, actually happened, he looks at you again, “Good luck in there, you’ll need it. Twenty-three people to fend off? May the odds be ever in your favor.”

Tanith isn’t very good at brushing it off, but she knows her time is limited. She comes over, holding her arms out like a child. You hug her, for her own sake and squeeze her tightly.

“Will you actually use the necklace as a token?” she asks.

“Well, I need something.” you say, “It’s better than nothing.”

“I’ll be rooting for you.” She pulls away, “Thank you for being the greatest person, ever.”

“Cheesy, she hates it.” Zavian comments, laughing a little to himself, “Look at the look on her face.”

Tanith pretends not to hear him, “I know she’s not fond of affection but--” she backs away entirely, “--you should know that a lot of the victors do like you. Truly. Sorcha and a few of the other’s won’t say it, but they love you. We all do.”

You give her a smile, “Thanks.”

“I’ll send anything that you need.” she says, “Make plenty of allies. Be ruthless.”

She’s quoting you. Those are the exact words you said to her last, before she was off to the hovercraft. It’s funny how they’ve stuck with her this long. They must echo inside of her mind like an empty chamber.

“I will, I promise.” you take in a deep breath.

The doors open, “Time’s up, time for the train.”

You look over the two people that decided to visit you, and you open your arms one last time. Tanith comes over willingly, and it takes Zavian a moment before he realizes that it’s extended to him too.

“You two are my pride and joys. Two of my biggest achievements, really. I’ll be back soon, and then you guys can praise me all you want.”

“Get off of me.” Zavian laughs, pushing away now.

“Bye.” you tell them firmly, before turning around and heading towards the peacekeepers.

One of them presses their hand to your lower back, guiding you to the car where Theo and Brutus await. Theo goes in first, since he’s royalty. Next is you, and Brutus nearly weighs the entire car down when he steps inside.

Theo begins muttering about something, you’re not entirely sure if you’re supposed to be listening or not. You want to tell him to shut up, but Brutus beats you to it. Theo glares, you can see him mouth the word ‘ungrateful’ and then stares out of the window for the rest of the time.

When the ride is over, you purposely hold onto Brutus, making him wait, “Open the door for us, Theo.”

He looks over like you just insulted his mother, “Huh?”

“I said, open the door for us. This is our spotlight, after all.” you motion, “Go ahead, before the peacekeepers do it first.”

Brutus is smiling, and he pushes Theo towards the door forcefully. Theo doesn’t like this in the slightest, popping open the door, and holding it open for you and Brutus. Brutus lets you go first, and you step out of the car carefully, holding onto your dress.

Out of the car now, Theo leads you up to the train station. Around you guys are a bunch of peacekeepers still, getting you up to the platform, and then taking on an automatic position behind you guys.

You take your time, waving with a smile at the thought of the fact that the next time you’ll be here, you’re going to be a two-timed victor.

–

ASK TO BE ON THE TAG LIST;

[everlarkficexchange]

when we’re underneath the lights my heart’s no longer broken

Written by:  @omercilessmoon

Prompt 92:  High School Musical au:  Katniss and Peeta as Troy and Gabriella.  [submitted by anonymous]

Rating:  T

Summary:  Panem High School puts on a production of High School Musical.  Part 1/?

Author’s Note:  The title is from “Just for a Moment” by Joshua Basset and Olivia Rodrigo.  Katniss’s audition song is “Wondering”, sung by Julia Lester and Olivia Rodrigo.

* * *

“I’m not here to audition.”

Peeta meets her grey eyes by accident; he just doesn’t want to look at Ms. Trinket’s curly pink bob (which he was certain was a wig) or her shiny green pantsuit (which looked like tin-foil that was spray-painted metallic green) and had fully intended on staring at the wall just behind her and not on Katniss Everdeen.

Her eyebrows press together and she frowns.

Oh god.  A blush starts up the back of his neck, turning his skin scarlet all the way up to his ears.  He clears his throat, tearing his gaze away and tries again.

“I’d like to join the crew,” he says.  “My brother did set design last year. I can help paint trees or something.”

Ms. Trinket shakes her head.  “I am well aware of how your previous director ran your school productions,” she says, footsteps echoing as she paces across the stage.  “I, however, require everyone to read.”

“I haven’t even seen the movie,” he replies.

A stream of murmurs fill the air; indistinct.  They move low, swirling around his ankles like fog.  Delly taps Madge on the knee, who passes her comment to Katniss:  “Is he for real? Who hasn’t seen High School Musical?”  The two blondes share a look and giggle.

Ms. Trinket doesn’t bat an eye.  “Then we’ll be seeing a fresh interpretation!”

He’s about to say something else.  The words are on his lips, but he sighs and reluctantly takes the script from her hand.

A frosty pink nail taps on a highlighted section and he reads for a moment before starting.

“My parents’ friends are always saying,” he starts, the words rolling off of his tongue easily.  Though it’s not like the movie’s version, his performance is endearing.  “‘Your son is the basketball guy.  You must be so proud.’ Sometimes I don’t want to be the basketball guy.  I just want to be, you know, me.”

Peeta looks up for approval, meaning to look at the director, but his eyes find hers again.  He can’t read her expression, eyebrows are still knit together and lips still in a downward pout, but something in her eyes doesn’t match the rest.  He stares back, his own face now scrunched into concentration.

And then he’s asked to sing.

Madge tries to lead him through Breaking Free, but he can’t read sheet music to save his life, and he doesn’t know the song—any of the songs—of course, because he hasn’t seen the movie.

He manages, just short of disaster.

There’s no applause.

After the first audition, he’d clapped before realizing that he wasn’t supposed to.  The sound was loud and thunderous, almost awkward. He wishes that he had applause now to drown out his nerves.

* * *

Katniss is the last to audition.

She hates watching the other auditions, even the warmups.  She tries to focus on her breathing, to calm the restless nerves prickling just underneath her skin.  Her sheet music suffers as she twists it, breaking off small bits of paper and scattering the pieces on the floor.

She almost doesn’t get up during the last call for Gabriella.  A look from Madge motivates her to force her legs to move beneath her, heavy, as if her shoes were filled with lead.

She’s no stranger to performing.  She has been in previous school productions, is part of her church choir and has performed for her father countless times.  Though, it’s different now. She feels alone, no lingering presence of his soul to guide her through auditions as before.

She doesn’t need a script for Gabriella’s monologue and it sets her apart from the others.  She’s memorized it from watching the movie countless times, and she does… okay.  Despite her attempt to mask her voice as cheery, her words fall flat as she recites, “Go Wildcats!”

It isn’t until Katniss settles at the pianoforte, which has been moved from the music room to the theatre, that she becomes someone of consequence.  Her fingers shake as she starts to play a melody that isn’t an approved song.

She ignores the screech of a chair moving across the floor and the shrillness of Ms. Trinket’s voice as her eyes focus on notes in front of her.

Katniss awakens, her voice like magic.

Seems like a part of me will always have to lose Every single time I have to choose Swore that it felt right, but was I wrong? Is this where I’m supposed to be at all?

Smooth low notes flow from between her lips, sung into something sad and regretful.  Ms. Trinket’s words stop in her throat.

If I could go back and change the past Be a little braver than I had And bet against the odds Would I still be lost? Even if I woke up in my dreams Would there still be something I’m missing? If I had everything Would it mean anything to me?

She sings a verse and the chorus and promptly stops.  Her movements are almost robotic as she collects her sheet music and walks back to the corner of the stage, her eyes trained on the floor.

* * *

Ms. Trinket is a firm believer in first impressions and on principle, does not do callbacks.  She spends most of her night going over her audition notes and placing them into her red binder behind the director’s copy of the script.

* * *

The cast list is posted before the first bell on the following day.

Peeta doesn’t look at it.  He doesn’t need to, walking past the group of students surrounding it on his way to homeroom.  His audition was just formality. He knows Katniss got Gabriella.  The rest didn’t matter.

Rye intercepts him partway, grinning ear to ear.  “Congratulations little brother,” he says, patting a hand on Peeta’s shoulder.

“For what?”

“The cast list?” Rye shakes his head.  “I thought you’d be more excited.”

“I haven’t seen it.”  Peeta blinks, unfazed.  “You saw her audition.”

Rye shakes his head.

He drags Peeta to the bulletin board outside the theatre and it’s second from the top in Ms. Trinket’s careful printing.

Troy Bolton (understudy) …  Peeta Mellark

“I told you to sign up, but I didn’t think you’d create some sort of elaborate plan!”  Rye says.

Peeta hardly hears his brother as he’s overcome with dread.  “This wasn’t the plan,” he says.  

Join the crew and talk to the girl.  That was the plan.

Peeta didn’t know how his brother had found out about his crush.  He’s never mentioned it.  He’s spent his whole life working up the courage to talk to her, creating plans and rehearsing opening lines she’d probably hate anyway.

“If you worked in the upcoming musical, you’d have some common ground,” Rye had suggested at dinner one night.  Ms. Trinket had approached him last semester to be the stage manager. He knew all of the production details weeks in advance and tried to help Peeta.

Peeta would need all the help he can get.

He’s not a performer and can barely make eye contact with Katniss without blushing.  He’s the understudy, thank god, but he’s still going to be practicing with her.  Or at least, he hoped he would.

The first bell rings, signalling class in three minutes.

“First rehearsal is Thursday at four,” Rye winks.

[ellanainthetardis]

I hope you enjoy this chapter! Let me know!

{FF] or [AO3]

21. Twenty-five weeks

Haymitch deepened the kiss, doing his best to ignore the flickering lights and the high-pitched voice coming from the kitchen where Elindra was trying to get through her phone call despite the statics on the line. He would grant that to the Capitol woman, the couch she had picked was very comfortable – and perfect for making-out.

“Are you trying to give my mother a scare?” Effie chuckled against her lips. “Horrify her into leaving the house?”

“Maybe.” he snorted, before kissing her again.

Not that it would do any good right now.

They had tried to put Elindra on a train three days earlier but the station had been closed in anticipation of the snowstorm that was supposed to hit Twelve. It had finally reached them that morning. They had woken up to a world of immaculate white, snowflakes slamming down from the sky, and no hope of safely getting out of the house, not even to reach the kids’.

Haymitch had never minded being snowed in. The house was stocked with wood, the fireplace would be more than enough if electricity failed – and from past experience and given the flickering lights, he knew electricity would fail – and they had enough food to last them a month. It also assured a certain tranquility he usually enjoyed.

Now though not only did he have a pregnant woman and a restless puppy on his hands, he also had a Capitol woman he couldn’t run away from. Being locked in with Elindra Trinket wasn’t fun. The house felt small, terribly small. Even when he stuck to their bedroom with a book, he couldn’t help overhearing her talking downstairs – if Effie was loud, her mother was worse.

“She will be gone soon.” she promised, pecking his lips one more time before drawing back. “You have been very good with her. I… Thank you.”

He shrugged, preferring to leave that unanswered.

Truth be told, a part of him felt grateful for the woman’s presence. They could have managed without her, they always had, but… She had been helpful in a way. He would never have thought of completely redecorating the living-room to prevent any potential trigger, for instance. And whatever she had done to get Effie downstairs…

It had gnawed at him to see Effie like that, the terror so obvious on her face. He hadn’t known what to do and hadn’t been able to stomach doing nothing. Peeta’s attempt had failed. He hadn’t wanted to argue with her again so he had kept his peace, choosing to give her space and time in the vague hope it would sort itself out…  

When Elindra had requested he left for the day, he hadn’t been sure. He didn’t trust the woman. Not only was she Capitol but he knew she had hurt Effie’s feelings in the past – something he had trouble forgiving. Whatever it was she had done though… It seemed to have worked.

Effie still spaced out sometimes and there were still nightmares but, for all intent and purposes, she was back to her usual self.

“I like the books your dad sent.” he said eventually, trying to find a positive spin to this invasion of their home. He was grateful to Elindra but he wouldn’t be sorry to see her leave, to get the house back, to go back to how things usually worked. Having the kids over, going to their house for dinner… Being a family again. To her credit, her mother had tried to respect what they had going but she didn’t fit in.

“He will be glad.” Effie hummed, pressing against her back. She made a face. “Would you…”

“Yeah.” he sighed.

She flashed him a beaming smile and turned around so he could work on her back. She was growing huge. Well… Maybe not huge but she was usually so tiny, she looked huge to him. And she had been tired for the past few days – one of the reasons why he was wary of the storm, because it meant they were cut off from any potential help they could need – her back particularly bothered her. He was rubbish at massages but it relieved her for a little while.

“I wish he wouldn’t kick so hard.” she complained, placing a hand on her belly.

“Maybe he’s impatient to get out.” he snorted.

“Well.” she huffed. “If he intends to act like this for the next three months, I am impatient for him to get out too. So young and already so unruly. There are no doubts about who his father is.”

“Sure.” he taunted. “’Cause you’re the soul of obedience.”

“I will have you know I am very well behaved and have always be very obedient.” she retorted.

“The things one must hear.” Elindra scoffed from the living-room’s threshold. Haymitch’s hand froze on Effie’s back, not sure how long she had been standing there. It must have been long enough because her face was schooled into her usual polite casualness. “You were the most unruly child, Euphemia. Quite the rebel. Whenever I said blue, you had to pick pink. You liked to contradict me just for the sake of it. Oh, it used to drive me crazy.”

“Lyssa was always the good daughter.” Effie joked with obvious bitterness and he slowly went back to work, trying to relieve her aches. “I had to improvise.”

“You maneuvered behind my back to get hired as a model at seventeen, I remember.” her mother insisted, shaking her head. “I was quite against it.”

“You did not think I would be successful and were afraid I would tarnish the family name.” she hummed and then chuckled without any amusement. “I suppose in the end your fears were justified.”

“I was simply wary of you getting hurt.” Elindra retorted. “There are some blows one’s pride does not recover from.” Effie turned her head to study her mother. They stared at each other for a while until the Capitol woman cleared her throat. “Is your back bothering you again? The heating patch was quite effective the other day, wasn’t it? I could fetch one for you, dear.”

“Later maybe.” Effie dismissed, clicking her fingers together. Snowball lifted his head from where he was slumbering in his bed and seemed to evaluate the distance and effort it would take to reach her. That puppy was spoiled and becoming lazy. “Come here, my pretty baby…”

The coaxing seemed to work. The dog paddled to the couch and then jumped up, curling into a ball in front of her and going right back to sleep with his head on her leg while she treaded her fingers in its fur.

The atmosphere was tense and awkward.

It was Haymitch’s turn to clear his throat. “So, what kind of rebel kid were you, sweetheart?”

“I was hardly a rebellious child.” Effie huffed.

“Come on, there must be funny stories…” he insisted, seeking Elindra’s gaze. Maybe he should have dropped it, let them deal with their own business but they had been doing better and he was kind of curious about her childhood.

“She did convince the hairdresser to dye her hair pink when I specifically wanted it purple.” her mother sighed. “She was eight but she already had a gift for convincing people to do her binding.”

“You had her fired.” Effie countered.

“Of course, I had her fired. I left very specific instructions and they were not met.” Elindra waved a dismissive hand. “I believe you learned a very valuable lesson that day, though.”

“I learned to be more cunning.” she snorted.

“As I said.” her mother insisted. “A valuable lesson. When you started smocking behind my back at fifteen, you were smart enough not to get caught.”

Effie frowned. “How do you…”

“Oh, please.” Elindra scoffed. “Did you truly think I did not know?”

“Lyssa told you the cigarettes were hers.” she exclaimed defensively.

“Very noble of your sister.” the Capitol woman smiled. “But utterly ridiculous. Unlike you, Lyssa is not gifted for games of deception.”

Effie shrugged his hands off. “Are those stories funny enough for you?”

“I’m in stitches.” he deadpanned, reaching out for her again, focusing on her lower back.

That time, he didn’t try to lighten the weird mood.

Elindra breathed out a small sigh and flashed them a polite smile. “I will retire for the night.”

“Night.” Haymitch said automatically, a little too happy to be rid of her probably. Effie remained silent. Elindra waited for a second or two and then left the room. He heard the soft click of the study turned guest room’s door getting shut a moment later. “That was harsh.”

“Don’t you dare judge.” she hissed.

“Not judging, sweetheart.” he shrugged. “Just thought you were getting along better, that’s all.”

Her whole body tensed and he thought she might bolt away. She relaxed against his chest instead and he wrapped his arms around her, pressing an instinctive soothing kiss against her shoulder.

“We are.” she said softly. “Talking about the past though… We will never raise our child like I was raised. Promise me.”

“Promise.” he granted easily. It hadn’t been his plan to give their kid a Capitol upbringing anyway.

“He will be whoever he wants to be.” she hummed, guiding his hands on her belly, where the baby was kicking the hardest. “We won’t force him to play a role. He will be free.”

He kissed her neck, under her jaw, gently rubbing her stomach.

Their son would be free. There would be no threat of arenas dangling over his head nor the looming shadow of the mines… Twelve was a different place now. Panem was a different place. Everything was possible. Everyone could be whatever they wanted to be.

He would have killed to have that opportunity in his youth. For him. For his brother…

“He could go to an university.” he mused out loud.

It had been a long buried secret yearning of his in his youth… He had always been curious, thirsty for knowledge of all kind… The schools in Twelve had always taught the basics and hardly more and his attendance hadn’t been stellar. He had made his own education afterwards, in the long days after his Games that the booze alone couldn’t fill. He had read every book he had been able to put his hands on: philosophy, history, politics, biographies, novels…

There were only a few universities and they were all in the Capitol. But by the time their son would be old enough maybe… Panem was morphing so fast, he was sure there would be other places to go in closer Districts.

“If he wishes to.” she hummed, turning her head to nuzzle his neck. “Should we sleep down here?”

“Yeah.” he nodded, reaching out for the blanket folded on the footrest and tossing it on her. They always did that when the blizzard was too strong… It was better in case the electricity, and thus the heating, gave in. It was warmer closer to the fireplace. They settled on the couch, on their sides, spooning – once again, he was glad Elindra had good tastes in couches. His mind kept wandering though and he couldn’t quite drift off. “He knows how to suck his thumb by now… I’ve read that in the books.”

“Yes?” He could hear the grin in her voice. “I love him so badly already… I am afraid of what I will feel when I hold him in my arms. It might be too much.”

“Won’t be.” he denied. “Won’t ever be too much.”

“Katniss is already planning on teaching him how to hunt.” she chuckled. “And Peeta… Peeta is eager to teach him how to paint with his fingers… They will make such a mess…”

He smirked against her hair, amused at the kids’ eagerness. It was one of the reasons he knew they would be alright with a baby. The kids would help. He wasn’t sure how everything would work out but he knew it would.

“New name ideas?” he asked because she spent most of her time the nose in those books, making list after list. Researching, as she called it. They weren’t having much luck on that front though.

So far, the shrimp was still the shrimp.

“I thought maybe Ilario. It means cheerful.” she told him. “Although given how much he is kicking me, I am not sure we should encourage him to be cheerful.”

“Ilario.” he repeated. It wasn’t the worst she had offered. He still ended up making a face. “No. He’s not an Ilario.”

“Somehow, I knew you would say that.” she chuckled. “Your turn, then.”

“Devin.” he suggested.

“Not refined enough.” she declared. And he wasn’t any more surprised by her refusal than she had been by his. “Perhaps tomorrow.”

“Maybe when he’s born.” he joked. Or maybe they could just stick to shrimp…

They fell asleep slowly, lulled by the irregular popping of the logs in the fireplace and the hissing of the wind outside. Haymitch never quite managed to completely surrender to slumber though, the blizzard was making a racket, sometimes rattling the blinds, keeping him on edge. Effie didn’t have that problem, she was out cold, her face tucked in the crook of his elbow, sometimes letting out a soft groan when he felt the baby kick under his palm.

It really seemed like that child couldn’t stand still.

He was startled from his dozing by noises in the kitchen, quiet banging that couldn’t have been the wind. He knew that, logically, it could only be one person given that Snowball was sprawled on their feet, absolutely not alarmed, but his sleepy mind wouldn’t accept that at face value.

He needed to be sure that Effie and the baby were safe.

He needed to be sure it wasn’t another mad man eager to kill his family.

He needed to be sure.

Extricating himself from the couch without waking Effie up or making any noise was very difficult and not helped in any way by Snowball’s whimper of protest. The dog immediately took the warm spot he had vacated. He tried not to be jealous at being so easily replaced when Effie rolled over and wrapped her arm around the puppy but he couldn’t help a smirk. They were cute.

The floor was cold under his sock-clad feet and he tried not to hiss when he left the floorboards for the even colder tiles of the kitchen.

As he had thought, there was no burglar, just Elindra, wrapped in a newly-purchased woolen dressing gown – she had complained about the plain colors in Twelve’s shop for forty-five minutes at dinner the other night, leaving him and Katniss to exchange fed up looks while Peeta and Effie commiserated – fumbling with the steaming kettle.

He almost took a step back when he actually saw her face. He didn’t know if it was the harsh neon light or the fact that it was bare of any make-up but it was… horrible. The numerous plastic surgeries had given her skin an unnatural aspect that didn’t quite manage to hide how old it was, it looked thin and stretched to its extreme limit to avoid lines. She had next to no eyebrows to speak off, either waxed away or bleached, he wasn’t sure, her eyes looked ridiculously small and lost in the washed-out paleness of her complexion. Her loose turquoise dyed hair framed her face, some strands loosely curling at the edge in a way that reminded him of Effie’s.

“Oh, dear!” Elindra exclaimed, turning her back on him to better hide herself. “I did not expect… I did not think…”

“Sorry.” he winced even though they were in his kitchen and he shouldn’t have had to apologize. “Heard a noise. Wanted to check.” In retrospect, it was probably a good thing the generator chose that moment to stop working. The lights flickered once and then snuffed out at the same time as any appliance in the house. Elindra let out another alarmed gasp, as if the thought of finding herself without electricity was absolutely unconceivable. “Bound to happen.” he grumbled, heading for the dresser’s drawer. He didn’t like the dark, not to say he hated it. Ghosts lurked in the darkness. He didn’t need to see to orientate himself in his kitchen though. He found the drawer and the perfumed candles Effie kept there before making his way to the counter where they kept the matches. It took him a few minutes to have three candles lit and reeking of chemical vanilla. Better than darkness though. “Blow them out when you’re done, yeah? Can’t really afford a fire right now.”

He turned around, eager to get back to the couch and Effie’s warm body, but her voice stopped him before he could even reach the table. “Would you care for some tea?”

Again, he had to swallow back the urge to tell him they were in his fucking kitchen and that she was offering him some of his own fucking tea.

She was obviously taking pain to be polite though, for Effie’s sake. And, truth be told, it was freezing and he wasn’t sleeping anyway so he could have done with some tea. “Sure, if you can find the chamomile stuff.”  

She lifted her non-existent eyebrows and rummaged in the tea box until she found the bag he was requesting. Her face wasn’t any less scary in the candlelight.

For the first time, Haymitch understood why Effie had always been so reluctant about being seen without make-up and wig back in the days, why it wasn’t socially acceptable for Capitols to show themselves without artifices… When people looked like that…

It was so… unnatural.

“I would not have pegged you for a chamomile drinker.” Elindra ventured, pouring water into two different mugs. ���Although I do not suppose I ever pictured you drinking anything other than alcohol.”

The gibe didn’t hurt one bit.

He was a drunk – always would be, even sober – it wasn’t something he was deluding himself upon.

“Helps me sleep.” he muttered, choosing not to address the other issue. He snatched the mug and added sugar, picking up a teaspoon from the dish rack to stir it. He fully intended to bring his tea back to the living-room.

“Do you know I never had to boil water myself before coming here?” Elindra hummed, fixing her own tea to her taste. “Being in Twelve has been quite the experience. I cannot say I will mind going back to civilization though. I do not know how Effie manages on a day to day basis. This District lacks so much… I cannot imagine why it did not modernize more during the rebuilding…”

They modernized plenty. Twelve kept evolving. It had barely anything in common with what he remembered from his youth. The discrepancy between the Seam and the town had disappeared, it was more homogeneous now. There were so many shops they didn’t need, a clinic, the factory… Of course, they didn’t have the fancy showers with perfumed water, the huge screens in the streets or the housemaids and butlers so many Capitols favored…

But Twelve wasn’t just a dead pit anymore.

There was no more coal dust dancing in the air, no more people slaving themselves off in the mines to feed their family and coughing theirs lungs out as a result… People weren’t starving. People weren’t scared of the white uniforms patrolling the streets. People didn’t have to risk getting whipped for a stroll in the woods.

“It has the essential.” he growled, almost a warning. “We’re happy here.”

She’s happy here, he didn’t say. He didn’t need to. It was implied.

Elindra leaned her hip against the counter – stepping back into the shadow a little, clearly not keen on anyone seeing her like that – absent-mindedly stirring her tea. “Yes. I saw.”

Uncomfortable with the reluctant acceptance in her voice, he took a sip of his tea, burning his tongue in the process. He longed to escape but didn’t quite dare. It was new, this uncertainty. He had never played nice with Capitols before, had never cared enough to try really… And, given the choice, he would have liked to keep his world separated from Effie’s relatives.

It was different now, though, because it wouldn’t be just the two of them anymore. He had no right and no intention to keep his child from his grandparents as reticent as he was about letting Capitols into their lives. The shrimp would only have one set of those, after all.

“I suppose I should thank you.” she offered with some bitterness. “I expected you to be a lot more difficult about my presence here. I expected… I did not expect you to be as gracious about my visiting as you have been.”

He pondered his words carefully. “It’s her house too and you’re her mother.”

“That wouldn’t have stopped greater men from forbidding me entrance.” she remarked.

“Yeah, well… I lost mine. I know what it’s like to miss your mother. You’re not dead, so… If she wants to reconnect, I won’t stop her.” he shrugged, staring at the flickering light of one of the candles. “Not any of my business anyway.”

“I sense a but.” she probed, taking a sip of her tea.

He clicked his tongue against his cheek in annoyance, meeting her eyes in the semi-darkness. “But you better not hurt her this time around ‘cause I’ve picked her up after you’ve kicked her down too many times. I’m not sure how many more heartbreak she can take.”

She maintained eye contact for a few seconds and then turned her head away, her lips pursed in a severe pout. “You seem to think I take pleasure in causing her pain. I won’t deny I hurt her feelings in the past nor do I feel I should apologize for it. Everything I ever did was meant to assure her happiness in the long term.”

“Tough love.” he scowled.

He knew everything he needed to know about how Elindra had put Effie down at every given opportunity. He knew because the rare times she had met her family during the Games, she had always come back to the penthouse upset and eager to fuck her brain out, almost begging for him to tell her she was beautiful. He knew because it was at the core of who she used to be, the reason why she had been so thirsty for fame in the first place, and the key to unlocking the true Effie under the escort’s mask.

He had met her when she was twenty-three and she had been so desperate to prove a point back then, to show the world she was it…

The world or her mother, but it had taken him a while to figure that out.

He had thought she was like the rest of them back then. Shallow, clueless, empty-headed… And she had been mostly… Until she had opened her eyes…

“Perhaps.” Elindra granted softly. “Lyssandra has always been the beauty, you know, but Effie… Effie was quick in a way her sister never was. It is never good for anyone to be too bright in the Capitol, not with a heart like hers, at least. It is… dangerous.” She shook her head. “You are not a parent yet. You do not understand the choices one has to make to insure their children are safe. You think I was harsh on Euphemia and I was, harsher than I was on her sister certainly… But Lyssa was made for the life she was born to, she never questioned anything. Effie… She questioned. She wanted to be more, to do more… She was never meant for greatness anyway, that was just a fanciful dream of hers. All I ever wanted was for her to have the best she could have, to be safe…”

He clenched his jaw and brought the mug to his lips, forced himself to wash the bad taste in his mouth with a gulp of scalding tea.

“I can get that.” he muttered eventually, thinking back to the Quell and everything he had kept from Katniss and Peeta. To protect them, yes, even if they would have ended up hating him later on, but also ultimately knowing it wasn’t the right thing to do. They could have handled it, he figured. Peeta, at least, could have handled it. Katniss… Katniss had always been a powder keg. She was a coin you tossed in the air, there was no way of predicting on which side she would land. He understood her better than most but he had known, even then, letting her know wasn’t the best idea. Later, he had thought again and again, later he would tell her everything. Until it had been too late and the decision had been out of his hands.

“Can you?” she snorted. “Because Euphemia hates me for it.”

Just like Katniss had hated him.

Just like Peeta had resented him.

But it was different. He had lied about the rebellion but he had never lied about the rest. He had never put the kids down, had never mocked Peeta’s baking or painting, had never belittled Katniss for her hunting…

There was protecting and nurturing and the two weren’t mutually exclusive.

“Well, you did tell her to get lost.” he sneered. “After the war. You…”

“Yes.” she cut him off, terse. “I did.”

“Don’t get how you can do that.” he snarled. “Toss your kid away like… She’s your daughter. How do you look your daughter in the eyes and told her to fuck off ‘cause your reputation’s more important than she is?” He saw the shame flash clearly over her face in the soft glow of the candle but it was quickly hidden behind a haughty expression he didn’t care for. He scoffed. “Fuck that. She needed you and you let her down.”

“Are you in any position to cast blame?” she retorted. “You weren’t in the Capitol at the time either, I do believe. You left her behind.”

“Difference is, I had to and she knows that.” he snapped. “I would have stayed in that fucking city if that was what she had wanted and if I had had a choice. I had to go for Katniss and she had to stay for Peeta. The kids had to come first.”

“Yes, they always do, don’t they?” she hummed, sounding strangely puzzled by that. “I never thought she would last in Twelve. I thought she would come back to us, lesson learned. I thought…” She waved a dismissive hand, her eyes suspiciously shiny in the glow of the candle. “It does not matter what I thought. I was wrong.”

“Of course, she was going to stay here.” It was almost a taunt and it was unfair because he hadn’t been sure at the time either. They had shared phone calls during the year she had spent in the Capitol but she had never hinted at moving out of the city despite the numerous invitations he had extended for her to visit the children – and him. “We’re her family.”

“And what does that make us, then, pray tell?” she replied harshly. She breathed out a long sigh and clicked her tongue. “No matter. The past is in the past. Things are different now, will be different. Let bygones be bygones.” Her voice became a little anxious. “You won’t oppose us seeing the child, will you? You have been… Like I said, you have been gracious about our involvement so far but we have not been the most supportive of your relationship with our daughter and…”

“Understatement.” he snorted and then let out a sigh of his own. “Look…” The words felt like ash in his mouth but his decision about that had been made the moment Effie had made it clear she wanted to reconnect with her parents. “As far as I’m concerned and as long as it’s alright with Effie, you’re family to that kid.”

“Thank you.” Elindra breathed out with palpable relief.

“But.” he added. “My child won’t go through what Effie did. You won’t put him down even if it’s for what you think is his own good. You won’t sneer at him ‘cause his father’s a District drunk. You will treat him right or you won’t see him ever again. You can’t fuck him up with your twisted Capitol games. It’s gonna be straightforward. That’s the deal.”

“Yes.” she said at once, as if she truly didn’t expect that much.

He wondered what tales she had constructed in her mind about him all those months since Effie had definitely left the Capitol. What had she been imagining? That he kept Effie prisoner? That he tyrannized her with his uncivilized barbaric tendencies?

“I ain’t a… I ain’t a monster.” he spat because he felt he needed to. Not like that anyway, he added in the privacy of his own mind. “I know I’m not what you wanted for her. I know she deserves better, too.  But she’s…” He faltered, at a loss for words, not comfortable expressing his feelings on the best day and certainly not faced with a virtual stranger for whom he had mixed feelings. It wasn’t that he cared for her parents’ approval but… When he thought about the kids, about the shrimp… If he were them, he would like to know that… “I want her to be happy. I want her to…”

“You love her, yes.” Elindra clarified, putting him out of his stuttering misery. “Her father thinks she could have done a lot worse than you, that despite the obvious downsides, you are a good and clever man. I must say I remained unconvinced it wouldn’t have been better for everyone involved if she had chosen a wealthy Capitol man with the right pedigree.” She snorted before he could argue his point and ask about the past tense. Didn’t she think that any longer? “Well.. Better for everyone except Effie. She does love you. And… Despite my disinclination toward the match, I cannot deny you seem to be… good for her. You are certainly a more devoted boyfriend than anyone she could have found in the Capitol. None of them would know how to handle those… moods of hers.”

He figured she was referring to the PTSD.

“She’s doing better.” he growled defensively.

“And she made it perfectly clear to me several times that it was only thanks to you.” she argued. “Do not fret so, Haymitch. The time for disapproval has passed. For better or worse, you are the father of my grandson anyway. Now if you would just marry my daughter and make the whole thing proper…”

He rolled his eyes and finished his tea in two longs mouthfuls. The tiles were too cold and he couldn’t really feel his toes anymore.

“Yeah, well…” he scoffed. “I’ll work on that.” He wanted to, all the more so given that she was carrying his child, but every time he hinted at the subject, Effie deflected. She had put it inside her head that he only wanted to marry her because of the kid – and as much as it was a big factor in the decision, it wasn’t all about that – and wouldn’t hear about it. He placed the now empty mug in the sink and rubbed his hands together to warm them. “’Night, Mrs Trinket.”

It felt odd to call her by such a formal name when they had been living under the same roof for a couple of weeks now but she had never offered the use of her first name and he tended not to call her at all if he could help it.

“Mother.” she said, placing her own empty mug on the counter.

He frowned, watching her blow out the first candle – vaguely wondering if it was wise to let her go near a flame given that her face was so full of plastic. “What?”

She snuffed the second candle and he couldn’t quite see her in the dark anymore, he could barely guess at her shape.

“Mother is the proper form of address for one’s mother-in-law in our social circle.” she declared. “You shall call me Mother.”

No, was his immediate reaction. He had one mother, the fact that she was dead didn’t change anything. He had one mother and she wouldn’t be replaced by a Capitol half made of plastic, even if it was in title only.

“I can call you Elindra.” he bargained.

“You could, yes. However that is the form of address reserved to friends.” she dismissed. “You are family now. I insist on propriety. It might not mean much to you but it does to us. I shall call you Haymitch to please my daughter and you shall call me Mother for the very same reason. We are not each other’s first choice but we will compose for Effie’s sake. Now. Goodnight, Haymitch.”

When she put it like that… Refusing would make him look like an ass – something he didn’t quite mind – but it might also result in a longer argument he wasn’t really up to at that moment. Effie would hear, a fight would stress her out and she wasn’t supposed to stress. Stress might trigger another bout of those Braxton X contractions…

“Goodnight.” he said again. “Mother.”

The word was strange, felt absolutely inappropriate and he hated every second of it.

Elindra, on the other hand, seemed pleased. She nodded once and then left the kitchen, looking for every purpose regal, as if she owned the whole place.

He shook his head, blew out the last candle and decided he would pretend nothing had happened the next morning. It had obviously been one of those middle of the night discussions where people shared much more than they intended to.

Once back in the living-room, he stroke the fire, making sure it would keep on burning, then scooped the puppy up and placed it back in his own bed despite his displeased grumbling. Then, he slipped back on the couch, wriggling under the blanket, careful not to wake Effie.

Too little, too late.

“Is everything alright?” she mumbled, snuggling closer to him, letting out a hiss when her feet met his icy ones.

“I think your mother just adopted me.” he snorted. “Aside for that… Sure. Peachy.”

She opened heavy eyelids. “I beg your pardon?”

“She wants me to call her Mother.” he muttered.

“Oh…” she hummed dismissively, tucking her head under his chin. “Well, you are her son-in-law, it is the proper form of address. Not offering would have been a slight. It is nice of her, actually. Goodnight.”

And, just like that, she went back to sleep.

Capitols, he couldn’t help but think, are strange people.

His half-cooked plan of pretending the whole thing had never happened was short lived because Elindra made it clear in the following days that she intended to be addressed properly and, since she made a point of being polite and calling him by his name at every opportunity, he had no choice but to answer in kind or risk Effie’s wrath.

When the storm finally calmed down enough to allow them out, the first thing he did was take Snowball for a walk in the woods – where he met Katniss who looked far too smug when she asked him if he had managed not to murder his mother-in-law.

He was still relieved when the train station reopened and Elindra eagerly boarded the first train that would take her back to the Capitol. It was even funny to watch, really, because Effie went for a hug that her mother suffered for thirty seconds before chiding her about public effusions, prompting him to hug the woman for much longer just to see her turn red with embarrassment.

“You are a mean man.” Effie grinned, waving as the train left the station.

“Don’t you just love it, sweetheart…” he teased.

Her laughter echoed in the nearly deserted station.

To him, there was no sweetest sound. 

[readbookywooks]

16. Haymitch grips my wrist as if anticipating my next move, but I am as speechless as the Capitol's torturers have rendered Darius. Haymitch once told me they did something to Avoxes' tongues so they could never talk again. In my head I hear Darius's voice, playful and bright, ringing across the Hob to tease me. Not as my fellow victors make fun of me now, but because we genuinely liked each other. If Gale could see him ... I know any move I would make toward Darius, any act of recognition, would only result in punishment for him. So we just stare into each other's eyes. Darius, now a mute slave; me, now headed to death. What would we say, anyway? That we're sorry for the other's lot? That we ache for the other's pain? That we're glad we had the chance to know each other? No, Darius shouldn't be glad he knew me. If I had been there to stop Thread, he wouldn't have stepped forward to save Gale. Wouldn't be an Avox. And more specifically, wouldn't be my Avox, because President Snow has so obviously had him placed here for my benefit. I twist my wrist from Haymitch's grasp and head down to my old bedroom, locking the door behind me. I sit on the side of my bed, elbows on my knees, forehead on my fists, and watch my glowing suit in the darkness, imagining I am in my old home in District 12, huddled beside the fire. It slowly fades back to black as the power pack dies out. When Effie eventually knocks on the door to summon me to dinner, I get up and take off my suit, fold it neatly, and set it on the table with my crown. In the bathroom, I wash the dark streaks of makeup from my face. I dress in a simple shirt and pants and go down the hall to the dining room. I'm not aware of much at dinner except that Darius and the redheaded Avox girl are our servers. Effie, Haymitch, Cinna, Portia, and Peeta are all there, talking about the opening ceremonies, I suppose. But the only time I really feel present is when I purposely knock a dish of peas to the floor and, before anyone can stop me, crouch down to clean them up. Darius is right by me when I send the dish over, and we two are briefly side by side, obscured from view, as we scoop up the peas. For just one moment our hands meet. I can feel his skin, rough under the buttery sauce from the dish. In the tight, desperate clench of our fingers are all the words we will never be able to say. Then Effie's clucking at me from behind about how "That isn't your job, Katniss!" and he lets go. When we go in to watch the recap of the opening ceremonies, I wedge myself in between Cinna and Haymitch on the couch because I don't want to be next to Peeta. This awfulness with Darius belongs to me and Gale and maybe even Haymitch, but not to Peeta. He might've known Darius to nod hello, but Peeta wasn't Hob the way the rest of us were. Besides, I'm still angry with him for laughing at me along with the other victors, and the last thing I want is his sympathy and comfort. I haven't changed my mind about saving him in the arena, but I don't owe him more than that. As I watch the procession to the City Circle, I think how it's bad enough that they dress us all up in costumes and parade us through the streets in chariots on a regular year. Kids in costumes are silly, but aging victors, it turns out, are pitiful. A few who are on the younger side, like Johanna and Finnick, or whose bodies haven't fallen into disrepair, like Seeder and Brutus, can still manage to maintain a little dignity. But the majority, who are in the clutches of drink or morphling or illness, look grotesque in their costumes, depicting cows and trees and loaves of bread. Last year we chattered away about each contestant, but tonight there's only the occasional comment. Small wonder the crowd goes wild when Peeta and I appear, looking so young and strong and beautiful in our brilliant costumes. The very image of what tributes should be. As soon as it's over, I stand up and thank Cinna and Portia for their amazing work and head off to bed. Effie calls a reminder to meet early for breakfast to work out our training strategy, but even her voice sounds hollow. Poor Effie. She finally had a decent year in the Games with Peeta and me, and now it's all broken down into a mess that even she can't put a positive spin on. In Capitol terms, I'm guessing this counts as a true tragedy. Soon after I go to bed, there's a quiet knock on my door, but I ignore it. I don't want Peeta tonight. Especially not with Darius around. It's almost as bad as if Gale were here. Gale. How am I supposed to let him go with Darius haunting the hallways? Tongues figure prominently in my nightmares. First I watch frozen and helpless while gloved hands carry out the bloody dissection in Darius's mouth. Then I'm at a party where everyone wears masks and someone with a flicking, wet tongue, who I suppose is Finnick, stalks me, but when he catches me and pulls off his mask, it's President Snow, and his puffy lips are dripping in bloody saliva. Finally I'm back in the arena, my own tongue as dry as sandpaper, while I try to reach a pool of water that recedes every time I'm about to touch it. When I wake, I stumble to the bathroom and gulp water from the faucet until I can hold no more. I strip off my sweaty clothes and fall back into bed, naked, and somehow find sleep again. I delay going down to breakfast as long as possible the next morning because I really don't want to discuss our training strategy. What's to discuss? Every victor already knows what everybody else can do. Or used to be able to do, anyway. So Peeta and I will continue to act in love and that's that. Somehow I'm just not up to talking about it, especially with Darius standing mutely by. I take a long shower, dress slowly in the outfit Cinna has left for training, and order food from the menu in my room by speaking into a mouthpiece. In a minute, sausage, eggs, potatoes, bread, juice, and hot chocolate appear. I eat my fill, trying to drag out the minutes until ten o'clock, when we have to go down to the Training Center. By nine-thirty, Haymitch is pounding on my door, obviously fed up with me, ordering me to the dining room NOW! Still, I brush my teeth before meandering down the hall, effectively killing another five minutes. The dining room's empty except for Peeta and Haymitch, whose face is flushed with drink and anger. On his wrist he wears a solid-gold bangle with a pattern of flames - this must be his concession to Effie's matching-token plan - that he twists unhappily. It's a very handsome bangle, really, but the movement makes it seem like something confining, a shackle, rather than a piece of jewelry. "You're late," he snarls at me. "Sorry. I slept in after the mutilated-tongue nightmares kept me up half the night." I mean to sound hostile, but my voice catches at the end of the sentence. Haymitch gives me a scowl, then relents. "All right, never mind. Today, in training, you've got two jobs. One, stay in love." "Obviously," I say. "And two, make some friends," says Haymitch. "No," I say. "I don't trust any of them, I can't stand most of them, and I'd rather operate with just the two of us." "That's what I said at first, but - " Peeta begins. "But it won't be enough," Haymitch insists. "You're going to need more allies this time around." "Why?" I ask. "Because you're at a distinct disadvantage. Your competitors have known each other for years. So who do you think they're going to target first?" he says. "Us. And nothing we're going to do is going to override any old friendship," I say. "So why bother?" "Because you can fight. You're popular with the crowd. That could still make you desirable allies. But only if you let the others know you're willing to team up with them," says Haymitch. "You mean you want us in the Career pack this year?" I ask, unable to hide my distaste. Traditionally the tributes from Districts 1, 2, and 4 join forces, possibly taking in a few other exceptional fighters, and hunt down the weaker competitors. "That's been our strategy, hasn't it? To train like Careers?" counters Haymitch. "And who makes up the Career pack is generally agreed upon before the Games begin. Peeta barely got in with them last year." I think of the loathing I felt when I discovered Peeta was with the Careers during the last Games. "So we're to try to get in with Finnick and Brutus - is that what you're saying?" "Not necessarily. Everyone's a victor. Make your own pack if you'd rather. Choose who you like. I'd suggest Chaff and Seeder. Although Finnick's not to be ignored," says Haymitch. "Find someone to team up with who might be of some use to you. Remember, you're not in a ring full of trembling children anymore. These people are all experienced killers, no matter what shape they appear to be in." Maybe he's right. Only who could I trust? Seeder maybe. But do I really want to make a pact with her, only to possibly have to kill her later? No. Still, I made a pact with Rue under the same circumstances. I tell Haymitch I'll try, even though I think I'll be pretty bad at the whole thing. Effie shows up a bit early to take us down because last year, even though we were on time, we were the last two tributes to show up. But Haymitch tells her he doesn't want her taking us down to the gym. None of the other victors will be showing up with a babysitter, and being the youngest, it's even more important we look self-reliant. So she has to satisfy herself with taking us to the elevator, fussing over our hair, and pushing the button for us. It's such a short ride that there's no real time for conversation, but when Peeta takes my hand, I don't pull it away. I may have ignored him last night in private, but in training we must appear as an inseparable team. Effie needn't have worried about us being the last to arrive. Only Brutus and the woman from District 2, Enobaria, are present. Enobaria looks to be about thirty and all I can remember about her is that, in hand-to-hand combat, she killed one tribute by ripping open his throat with her teeth. She became so famous for this act that, after she was a victor, she had her teeth cosmetically altered so each one ends in a sharp point like a fang and is inlaid with gold. She has no shortage of admirers in the Capitol. By ten o'clock, only about half of the tributes have shown up. Atala, the woman who runs training, begins her spiel right on time, unfazed by the poor attendance. Maybe she expected it. I'm sort of relieved, because that means there are a dozen people I don't have to pretend to make friends with. Atala runs through the list of stations, which include both combat and survival skills, and releases us to train. I tell Peeta I think we'd do best to split up, thus covering more territory. When he goes off to chuck spears with Brutus and Chaff, I head over to the knot-tying station, hardly anyone ever bothers to visit it. I like the trainer and he remembers me fondly, maybe because I spent time with him last year. He's pleased when I show him I can still set the trap that leaves an enemy dangling by a leg from a tree. Clearly he took note of my snares in the arena last year and now sees me as an advanced pupil, so I ask him to review every kind of knot that might come in handy and a few that I'll probably never use. I'd be content to spend the morning alone with him, but after about an hour and a half, someone puts his arms around me from behind, his fingers easily finishing the complicated knot I've been sweating over. Of course it's Finnick, who seems to have spent his childhood doing nothing but wielding tridents and manipulating ropes into fancy knots for nets, I guess. I watch for a minute while he picks up a length of rope, makes a noose, and then pretends to hang himself for my amusement. Rolling my eyes, I head over to another vacant station where tributes can learn to build fires. I already make excellent fires, but I'm still pretty dependent on matches for starting them. So the trainer has me work with flint, steel, and some charred cloth. This is much harder than it looks, and even working as intently as I can, it takes me about an hour to get a fire going. I look up with a triumphant smile only to find I have company. The two tributes from District 3 are beside me, struggling to start a decent fire with matches. I think about leaving, but I really want to try using the flint again, and if I have to report back to Haymitch that I tried to make friends, these two might be a bearable choice. Both are small in stature with ashen skin and black hair. The woman, Wiress, is probably around my mother's age and speaks in a quiet, intelligent voice. But right away I notice she has a habit of dropping off her words in mid-sentence, as if she's forgotten you're there. Beetee, the man, is older and somewhat fidgety. He wears glasses but spends a lot of time looking under them. They're a little strange, but I'm pretty sure neither of them is going to try to make me uncomfortable by stripping naked. And they're from District 3. Maybe they can even confirm my suspicions of an uprising there. I glance around the Training Center. Peeta is at the center of a ribald circle of knife throwers. The morphlings from District 6 are in the camouflage station, painting each other's faces with bright pink swirls. The male tribute from District 5 is vomiting wine on the sword-fighting floor. Finnick and the old woman from his district are using the archery station. Johanna Mason is naked again and oiling her skin down for a wrestling lesson. I decide to stay put. Wiress and Beetee make decent company. They seem friendly enough but don't pry. We talk about our talents; they tell me they both invent things, which makes my supposed interest in fashion seem pretty weak. Wiress brings up some sort of stitching device she's working on. "It senses the density of the fabric and selects the strength," she says, and then becomes absorbed in a bit of dry straw before she can go on. "The strength of the thread," Beetee finishes explaining. "Automatically. It rules out human error." Then he talks about his recent success creating a musical chip that's tiny enough to be concealed in a flake of glitter but can hold hours of songs. I remember Octavia talking about this during the wedding shoot, and I see a possible chance to allude to the uprising. "Oh, yeah. My prep team was all upset a few months ago, I think, because they couldn't get hold of that," I say casually. "I guess a lot of orders from District Three were getting backed up." Beetee examines me under his glasses. "Yes. Did you have any similar backups in coal production, this year?" he asks. "No. Well, we lost a couple of weeks when they brought in a new Head Peacekeeper and his crew, but nothing major," I say. "To production, I mean. Two weeks sitting around your house doing nothing just means two weeks of being hungry for most people." I think they understand what I'm trying to say. That we've had no uprising. "Oh. That's a shame," says Wiress in a slightly disappointed voice. "I found your district very ..." She trails off, distracted by something in her head. "Interesting," fills in Beetee. "We both did." I feel bad, knowing that their district must have suffered much worse than ours. I feel I have to defend my people. "Well, there aren't very many of us in Twelve," I say. "Not that you'd know it nowadays by the size of the Peacekeeping force. But I guess we're interesting enough." As we move over to the shelter station, Wiress stops and gazes up at the stands where the Gamemakers are roaming around, eating and drinking, sometimes taking notice of us. "Look," she says, giving her head a slight nod in their direction. I look up and see Plutarch Heavensbee in the magnificent purple robe with the fur-trimmed collar that designates him as Head Gamemaker. He's eating a turkey leg. I don't see why this merits comment, but I say, "Yes, he's been promoted to Head Gamemaker this year." "No, no. There by the corner of the table. You can just ..." says Wiress. Beetee squints under his glasses. "Just make it out." I stare in that direction, perplexed. But then I see it. A patch of space about six inches square at the corner of the table seems almost to be vibrating. It's as if the air is rippling in tiny visible waves, distorting the sharp edges of the wood and a goblet of wine someone has set there. "A force field. They've set one up between the Game-makers and us. I wonder what brought that on," Beetee says. "Me, probably," I confess. "Last year I shot an arrow at them during my private training session." Beetee and Wiress look at me curiously. "I was provoked. So, do all force fields have a spot like that?" "Chink," says Wiress vaguely. "In the armor, as it were," finishes Beetee. "Ideally it'd be invisible, wouldn't it?" I want to ask them more, but lunch is announced. I look for Peeta, but he's hanging with a group of about ten other victors, so I decide just to eat with District 3. Maybe I can get Seeder to join us. When we make our way into the dining area, I see some of Peeta's gang have other ideas. They're dragging all the smaller tables to form one large table so that we all have to eat together. Now I don't know what to do. Even at school I used to avoid eating at a crowded table. Frankly, I'd probably have sat alone if Madge hadn't made a habit of joining me. I guess I'd have eaten with Gale except, being two grades apart, our lunch never fell at the same time. I take a tray and start making my way around the food-laden carts that ring the room. Peeta catches up with me at the stew. "How's it going?" "Good. Fine. I like the District Three victors," I say. "Wiress and Beetee." "Really?" he asks. "They're something of a joke to the others." "Why does that not surprise me?" I say. I think of how Peeta was always surrounded at school by a crowd of friends. It's amazing, really, that he ever took any notice of me except to think I was odd. "Johanna's nicknamed them Nuts and Volts," he says. "I think she's Nuts and he's Volts." "And so I'm stupid for thinking they might be useful. Because of something Johanna Mason said while she was oiling up her breasts for wrestling," I retort. "Actually I think the nickname's been around for years. And I didn't mean that as an insult. I'm just sharing information," he says. "Well, Wiress and Beetee are smart. They invent things. They could tell by sight that a force field had been put up between us and the Gamemakers. And if we have to have allies, I want them." I toss the ladle back in a pot of stew, splattering us both with the gravy. "What are you so angry about?" Peeta asks, wiping the gravy from his shirtfront. "Because I teased you on the elevator? I'm sorry. I thought you would just laugh about it." "Forget it," I say with a shake of my head. "It's a lot of things." "Darius," he says. "Darius. The Games. Haymitch making us team up with the others," I say. "It can just be you and me, you know," he says. "I know. But maybe Haymitch is right," I say. "Don't tell him I said so, but he usually is, where the Games are concerned." "Well, you can have final say about our allies. But right now, I'm leaning toward Chaff and Seeder," says Peeta. "I'm okay with Seeder, not Chaff," I say. "Not yet, anyway." "Come on and eat with him. I promise, I won't let him kiss you again," says Peeta. Chaff doesn't seem as bad at lunch. He's sober, and while he talks too loud and makes bad jokes a lot, most of them are at his own expense. I can see why he would be good for Haymitch, whose thoughts run so darkly. But I'm still not sure I'm ready to team up with him. I try hard to be more sociable, not just with Chaff but with the group at large. After lunch I do the edible-insect station with the District 8 tributes - Cecelia, who's got three kids at home, and Woof, a really old guy who's hard of hearing and doesn't seem to know what's going on since he keeps trying to stuff poisonous bugs in his mouth. I wish I could mention meeting Twill and Bonnie in the woods, but I can't figure out how. Cashmere and Gloss, the sister and brother from District 1, invite me over and we make hammocks for a while. They're polite but cool, and I spend the whole time thinking about how I killed both the tributes from their district, Glimmer and Marvel, last year, and that they probably knew them and might even have been their mentors. Both my hammock and my attempt to connect with them are mediocre at best. I join Enobaria at sword training and exchange a few comments, but it's clear neither of us wants to team up. Finnick appears again when I'm picking up fishing tips, but mostly just to introduce me to Mags, the elderly woman who's also from District 4. Between her district accent and her garbled speech - possibly she's had a stroke - I can't make out more than one in four words. But I swear she can make a decent fishhook out of anything - a thorn, a wishbone, an earring. After a while I tune out the trainer and simply try to copy whatever Mags does. When I make a pretty good hook out of a bent nail and fasten it to some strands of my hair, she gives me a toothless smile and an unintelligible comment I think might be praise. Suddenly I remember how she volunteered to replace the young, hysterical woman in her district. It couldn't be because she thought she had any chance of winning. She did it to save the girl, just like I volunteered last year to save Prim. And I decide I want her on my team. Great. Now I have to go back and tell Haymitch I want an eighty-year-old and Nuts and Volts for my allies. He'll love that. So I give up trying to make friends and go over to the archery range for some sanity. It's wonderful there, getting to try out all the different bows and arrows. The trainer, Tax, seeing that the standing targets offer no challenge for me, begins to launch these silly fake birds high into the air for me to hit. At first it seems stupid, but it turns out to be kind of fun. Much more like hunting a moving creature. Since I'm hitting everything he throws up, he starts increasing the number of birds he sends airborne. I forget the rest of the gym and the victors and how miserable I am and lose myself in the shooting. When I manage to take down five birds in one round, I realize it's so quiet I can hear each one hit the floor. I turn and see the majority of the victors have stopped to watch me. Their faces show everything from envy to hatred to admiration. After training, Peeta and I hang out, waiting for Haymitch and Effie to show up for dinner. When we're called to eat, Haymitch pounces on me immediately. "So at least half the victors have instructed their mentors to request you as an ally. I know it can't be your sunny personality." "They saw her shoot," says Peeta with a smile. "Actually, I saw her shoot, for real, for the first time. I'm about to put in a formal request myself." "You're that good?" Haymitch asks me. "So good that Brutus wants you?" I shrug. "But I don't want Brutus. I want Mags and District Three." "Of course you do." Haymitch sighs and orders a bottle of wine. "I'll tell everybody you're still making up your mind." After my shooting exhibition, I still get teased some, but I no longer feel like I'm being mocked. In fact, I feel as if I've somehow been initiated into the victors' circle. During the next two days, I spend time with almost everybody headed for the arena. Even the morphlings, who, with Peeta's help, paint me into a field of yellow flowers. Even Finnick, who gives me an hour of trident lessons in exchange for an hour of archery instruction. And the more I come to know these people, the worse it is. Because, on the whole, I don't hate them. And some I like. And a lot of them are so damaged that my natural instinct would be to protect them. But all of them must die if I'm to save Peeta. The final day of training ends with our private sessions. We each get fifteen minutes before the Gamemakers to amaze them with our skills, but I don't know what any of us might have to show them. There's a lot of kidding about it at lunch. What we might do. Sing, dance, strip, tell jokes. Mags, who I can understand a little better now, decides she's just going to take a nap. I don't know what I'm going to do. Shoot some arrows, I guess. Haymitch said to surprise them if we could, but I'm fresh out of ideas. As the girl from 12, I'm scheduled to go last. The dining room gets quieter and quieter as the tributes file out to go perform. It's easier to keep up the irreverent, invincible manner we've all adopted when there are more of us. As people disappear through the door, all I can think is that they have a matter of days to live. Peeta and I are finally left alone. He reaches across the table to take my hands. "Decided what to do for the Gamemakers yet?" I shake my head. "I can't really use them for target practice this year, with the force field up and all. Maybe make some fishhooks. What about you?" "Not a clue. I keep wishing I could bake a cake or something," he says. "Do some more camouflage," I suggest. "If the morphlings have left me anything to work with," he says wryly. "They've been glued to that station since training started." We sit in silence awhile and then I blurt out the thing that's on both our minds. "How are we going to kill these people, Peeta?" "I don't know." He leans his forehead down on our entwined hands. "I don't want them as allies. Why did Haymitch want us to get to know them?" I say. "It'll make it so much harder than last time. Except for Rue maybe. But I guess I never really could've killed her, anyway. She was just too much like Prim." Peeta looks up at me, his brow creased in thought. "Her death was the most despicable, wasn't it?" "None of them were very pretty," I say, thinking of Glimmer's and Cato's ends. They call Peeta, so I wait by myself. Fifteen minutes pass. Then half an hour. It's close to forty minutes before I'm called. When I go in, I smell the sharp odor of cleaner and notice that one of the mats has been dragged to the center of the room. The mood is very different from last year's, when the Gamemakers were half drunk and distractedly picking at tidbits from the banquet table. They whisper among themselves, looking somewhat annoyed. What did Peeta do? Something to upset them? I feel a pang of worry. That isn't good. I don't want Peeta singling himself out as a target for the Gamemakers' anger. That's part of my job. To draw fire away from Peeta. But how did he upset them? Because I'd love to do just that and more. To break through the smug veneer of those who use their brains to find amusing ways to kill us. To make them realize that while we're vulnerable to the Capitol's cruelties, they are as well. Do you have any idea how much I hate you? I think. You, who have given your talents to the Games? I try to catch Plutarch Heavensbee's eye, but he seems to be intentionally ignoring me, as he has the entire training period. I remember how he sought me out for a dance, how pleased he was to show me the mockingjay on his watch. His friendly manner has no place here. How could it, when I'm a mere tribute and he's the Head Gamemaker? So powerful, so removed, so safe ... Suddenly I know just what I'm going to do. Something that will blow anything Peeta did right out of the water. I go over to the knot-tying station and get a length of rope. I start to manipulate it, but it's hard because I've never made this actual knot myself. I've only watched Finnick's clever fingers, and they moved so fast. After about ten minutes, I've come up with a respectable noose. I drag one of the target dummies out into the middle of the room and, using some chinning bars, hang it so it dangles by the neck. Tying its hands behind its back would be a nice touch, but I think I might be running out of time. I hurry over to the camouflage station, where some of the other tributes, undoubtedly the morphlings, have made a colossal mess. But I find a partial container of bloodred berry juice that will serve my needs. The flesh-colored fabric of the dummy's skin makes a good, absorbent canvas. I carefully finger paint the words on its body, concealing them from view. Then I step away quickly to watch the reaction on the Gamemakers' faces as they read the name on the dummy. SENECA CRANE.