Chapter Text
You feel the hot stinging pain of betrayal. You thought you might be friends, allies even. But, now it seems like Peeta, the boy with that damned cookie, hated you. You had hoped all your life that you could sit and laugh with him, and now that you’ve done just that, he wants you as far away as possible.
You decide from then on that you wanted as little to do with Peeta Mellark as he wanted with you. It’s better this way. But, you thought of the things he’s done for you, all the way back to the cookie. Holding your hand in the chariot, talking to you on the roof, laughing and sticking up for you during meals. What had you done for Peeta to despise you?
The tear of multiple opinions hurts your head. You want to feel relieved, to feel that this is for the best, but you can’t. You wanted a friend in the arena, not another person who wants you head on a stick to wave around. You wanted Peeta as your friend the entire time you went to school with him, and now he wants nothing to do with you. Nothing could have prepared you for the aching your heart makes.
“Fine.” You say as emotionlessly as you can manage. “What’s the schedule?”
“You’ll each have four hours with Effie for presentation, and four with me for content.” Haymitch says. “You start with Effie” He says your name. Great. Four hours alone with Effie. What a perfect day this is becoming.
Effie has you working every minute, despite what you were expecting (Which wasn’t much, to be honest). She takes you to your room and teaches you how to wave and smile properly. Making sure you walk ‘correctly’ and hounding you on your eating skills. She tells you that you would’ve had to walk in heels and a gown if it weren’t for your “predicament”, and you thank whatever god is above for giving you this moment of peace. Instead, you are given fancy men’s shoes that pinch your toes and hurt to walk in, probably just as much as heels would have.
When you’re done, your face muscles are aching from the smiling, and your head is pounding with information. “Well, that’s the best I can do.” Effie says with a sigh. “Just remember,” She lightly says your name. “You want the audience to like you.”
“And you assume they won’t.” You say flatly.
“Not if you glare at them the entire time. Why don’t you save that for the arena? Instead, think of yourself among friends.” Effie says.
“They aren’t friends! They want me dead as soon as possible!” You burst out.
“Well try and pretend!” Effie snaps back. She takes a moment to compose herself before shining her brilliant smile back to you. “See, like this. I’m smiling at you even though you’re aggravating me.”
“Riveting.” You sarcastically reply, kicking off your uncomfortable shoes. “I’m going to eat.” You don’t wait for a reply, stomping into the hallway and into the dinning room.
Peeta and Haymitch are in good moods, so you assume that the content portion of your day will be a breeze compared to the morning you’ve had. You were so very wrong. After lunch, Haymitch sits you down on the couch in the sitting room, frowning at you for a bit.
“What?” You snap.
“I’m trying to figure out what to do with you.” He replies honestly. “How we’re going to present you. Are you going to be charming? Aloof? Fierce. So far, you’re shining like a star. You volunteered to save your sister. Cinna made you look unforgettable. You’ve got the top training score. People are intrigued, but no one knows who you are. The impression you make tomorrow will decide exactly what I can get you in terms of sponsors,” says Haymitch.
You know what he’s saying is right. You must appeal to the crowd to gain sponsors, whether it be by being fierce and competitive, sexy, or sweet and charming. You must captivate the audience to gain anything in the arena. But, what would your method be? You weren’t sexy, or smart, or even that good at fighting. So, what would Haymitch make you up to be?
“What’s Peeta’s approach? Am I even allowed to ask?” You dumbly ask. For someone who doesn’t like Peeta, you sure do think about him a lot.
“Likable. He has sort of a self-deprecating humor naturally,” Haymitch replies. “Whereas when you open your mouth, you come across as hostile and ready to attack.”
“What?” You stand up. “No I don’t!”
“Please. I don’t know where you pulled that cheery, wavy boy on the chariot from, but I haven’t seen him before or since.” says Haymitch.
“And I have so many reasons to be happy here.” You say back.
“But you don’t have to please me. I’m not going to sponsor you. So pretend I'm the audience,” says Haymitch. “Delight me.”
“Whatever.” You just about shout.
Haymitch then takes the role of the interviewer, asking you questions, expecting an award winning answer. But you can’t form any answers that would win anything, only coming up with snarky and rude responses that poke fun at Haymitch or the capitol. How could you find another angle? They put you into this stupid situation, making you fight for your life against these other kids.
“Alright, enough.” He says. “We’ve got to find another angle. Not only are you hostile, I don’t know anything about you. I’ve asked you fifty questions and still have no sense of your life, your family, what you care about. They want to know about you.”
“Why do they even care about my life when they’re so eager to see it stripped away from me? They don’t deserve to know about my past when I don’t even have a future anymore!” You screamed.
“Then lie! Make something up!” Haymitch screams back.
“Why should I?” You continue raising your voice.
“Because you have about as much charm as a dead slug.” Haymitch says.
What the fuck is his problem? He was in my shoes before, he should know how this feels!
Haymitch can probably sense that he’s riled you up too much and softens his voice. “Here’s an idea. Try acting humble.”
“Humble?” You ask.
“That you can’t believe a little boy from district 12 has done this well. The whole thing’s been more than you ever could have dreamed of. Talk about Cinna’s clothes. How nice the people are. How the city amazes you. If you won’t talk about yourself, at least complement the audience. Just keep turning it back around, alright. Gush.”
You spend the next few hours trying to gush, somewhat successfully. Haymitch would ask a question and you’d talk about how this was all so unexpected, trying to gush about everything here in the capitol. You hated how fake you sounded after every answer you gave. It wasn’t you. Sure, you were just a little boy from district 12 who was enamored by the elegance of the capitol, but you never once spoke highly of it. You never admired the people who lived here. Who dressed like the pits of fashion and acted higher than thou.
By the end, Haymitch was happy with your acting, but you felt so utterly unlike yourself it hurt. “When you talk about the capitol during the interview, try and mask your hatred more, sweetheart.” Haymitch says on your way to your room.
You eat in your room, too tired to interact socially anymore today, ordering a large meal that you scarfed down. You ate like it was your last meal, and you guessed it might be one of your last. You ate angrily, angry at Haymitch, angry at the capitol, angry at everyone. Tired of acting like someone you aren’t for people who just want to watch you die. You took your empty plates and started throwing them at the floor and walls. The red headed Avox girl stepped into the room and her eyes widened at the mess. When you see her eyes, you stop. You were truly sorry for leaving her back then in the forest.
Maybe my death will make up for the boys.
The Avox girl closes the door behind her and heads into the bathroom. She comes out with a damp cloth that she uses to wipe your face with, then cleans the blood and broken plate off of your hands. Why? Why is she doing all of this for me when I haven’t done anything but cause her trouble?
“I should have tried to help you back then. Back in the woods. I’m so, so, so, sorry I didn’t.” To which she shakes her head. Is she forgiving me?
“It was wrong.” You say.
She taps her lips with her finger and then points to your chest. ‘You would have ended up like me.” She silently says. That you would have been an Avox too. Or maybe dead, like the boy.
You spend the next hour or so helping the Avox girl pick up pieces of broken plates and bowls. When you finish taking out the garbage, you find yourself back in your room. You couldn’t help it, you hugged the Avox girl. Another ‘I’m sorry’. Making sure the door is firmly closed, she hugs you back tightly. Then, you cry on her shoulder as she hugs you tighter. I don’t deserve this.
You separate and head to your bed, where she insists on tucking you in. Then she leaves. You half want her to stay until you fall asleep, but you know that sounds childish. Eyes growing heavy, you let sleep consume you for the night, accepting the nightmares.
In the morning, your prep team is hovering over you. Your lessons with Effie and Haymitch are over, so now the day belongs to Cinna. Your last hope at gaining sponsors. Maybe he’ll make you look so amazing that no one will even pay attention to what sounds escape your mouth during your interview.
The prep team works until late afternoon. They turn your skin glowy, stencil patterns onto your arms, and paint flaming nail designs onto your freshly chewed on nails. Viena starts on your hair, tying strings of red into your hair, making it look fiery.
They give you a light layer of base makeup, erasing any pimples or imperfections while drawing out your biggest features. They draw out your eyes, nose, and lips. Finally, they cover your body in powder that makes you shimmer like gold.
Cinna emerges with your suit, but it’s covered, so you can’t see exactly what it looks like just yet. “Close your eyes.” Cinna orders. You can feel the fabrics as they drape you in your suit. It’s insanely heavy, probably forty pounds or so. You grab Octavia’s hand as you step blindly into your shoes. You were worried that they’d hurt like the test-run ones Effie made you wear, but they were comfortable and secure. The team takes a few more moments fixing and adjusting your outfit. Then silence.
“Can I open my eyes?” You inquire.
“Yes,” Cinna says. “Open them.”
Opening your eyes, you are met with someone dazzling and spectacular. Skin shimmering and eyes wide, you take in your costume. Your suit was covered in jewels and so reflective it almost hurt to look at. They shimmered in colors ranging from red, yellow and white to even small bits of blue that showed and accentuated the flame designs. Even the smallest movement made it look like you were covered almost head to toe in brilliant and show-stopping flames.
You were not handsome or pretty. You shone like a million suns.
For a minute, you simply stare at your prep team, not knowing what to say. “Thank you.” You manage simply. “Cinna, this is wonderful!”
“Twirl for me,” Cinna says. You spin in a circle, holding out your arms. The prep team squeals and screams, loving every moment of the show.
Cinna dismissed the team and has you move around to make sure your shoes and suit are comfortable enough, and they are.
“So, all ready for the interview them?” asks Cinna. You can tell he’s been talking to Haymitch by his grim expression.
“Haymitch called me a dead slug. I just can’t stand being someone other than myself. I’m not witty or sexy or fierce. I’m just me.”
Cinna thinks for a moment. “Why don’t you just be yourself?”
“Myself? That’s probably worse. Haymitch calls me ‘hostile and rude’.” you say.
“Well, you are…around Haymitch.” He says with a grin. “I don’t find you so. The prep team adores you. You even won over the gamemakers. And as for the citizens of the capitol, well, they can’t stop talking about you. No one can help but admire your spirit.”
Your spirit? That’s new. It suggests a fighter. Someone with a fierceness to them. Someone is brave, even.
Cinna takes your hands in his warm ones. “Suppose when you answer questions, you think you’re addressing a friend back home. Who would your best friend be?” Cinna asks.
“My sister Amelia.” You say right away. “But, Amelia already knows everything there is to know about me.”
“What about me? Could you think of me as a friend?” asks Cinna.
Out of everyone you’ve met since the prep for the games has begun, Cinna would be the closest to a friend. Someone you actively want to be around. Someone who makes you feel like you instead of someone else. “Yes.” You say, sure of yourself.
Cinna smiles. “I’ll be sitting on the main platform with the other stylists. You’ll be able to look right at me. When you’re asked a question, find me, and answer it as honestly as possible. Says Cinna.
“Even if it’s awful?” You ask, worrying. “Especially if what you think is horrible.” says Cinna. “You’ll try it?”
You nod. You would try as hard as possible to give your answers to Cinna, and Cinna alone.
You are whisked away to begin the interviews in front of the training center. Once you leave your room, it’s only a few minutes until you’re in front of cameras and all of Panem. Your stomach knots. Cinna turns the doorknob, and your breath quickens. Sensing your anxiety, he says softly, “Remember, they already love you. Just be yourself.”
You meet up with the rest of the district 12 team at the elevator. Portia and her team have been hard at work, because Peeta looks breathtaking. His suit was different to yours, only really housing flame accents and minimal jewels. It was kind of a relief not to be dressed like twins. Haymitch and Effie are also dressed up, looking stunning as well. You try to avoid everyone but your prep team, but accept Effie’s compliments as they come your way.
The elevator doors open and the other tributes are being lined up to take the stage. All twenty-four of you sit in a big arch throughout the interviews. You’ll be last, just after Peeta. You wished you had been sooner just to get it over with. But, with you being last, you’ll have to listen to how awesome and funny or sexy every other tribute is before you even get to go. And, the audience will definitely be bored just like those damned gamemakers. But, now you have only your words to get their attention, not a spear to the face.
Haymitch comes over to you and Peeta and says “Remember, you're a happy pair. So act like it.”
Huh? You thought that was left behind when Peeta wanted to be coached separately? What was the point of being coached separately if you were still going to be a pair? You push those thoughts away as you all march single-file to your seats, taking your places next to your fellow tributes.
Being on stage is surreal. Millions of people are looking at you, waiting to hear what you’re going to say, sitting on the edge of their seats. Your breath hitches and your palms get sweaty looking at the sea of people. People who want you dead, you remember. You sit down and try to appear sure of yourself and what you’ll say. You look to the stylists in the front row, hoping to catch Cinna’s eye.
You couldn’t even take in everything fully due to the anxiety and bright lights, so you chose to stare at your shaky hands instead, admiring your newly polished nails. You know that every television back home is turned on to see the tribute's interviews. Feeling Amelia’s anxiety from miles and miles away, you smile softly at the cameras, hoping that she saw you.
Caesar Flickerman, the host for the interviews for more than forty years, bounds onto stage. In all the time that you’ve seen him on your television screen, he’s looked the same. Same hair that he chooses to dye fun colors, same ceremonial suit, a midnight blue with a million little light bulbs that flickered like the fireflies back home, same scary white makeup. You were positive that he’s gotten a shit ton of work done to maintain his appearance over the years.
Back home, an old face with wrinkles and fat is a token of honor. A way of showing that you’ve made it this far. But, here in the capitol, wrinkles, blemishes, and fat are eliminated with surgery and fillers. Another strange thing this city did that made no sense to you. Capitol freaks.
Caesar's hair is baby blue. His eyelids and lips are painting a matching shade. He looks odd to you, but nowhere near as odd as last year when he wore crimson red and looked as if he were bleeding from the eyes and lips. He jokes to warm up the crowd, but ultimately begins the interviews.
You tried to pay as much attention to the other tributes as possible, hoping it might give you an advantage in the arena. Each interview only lasts a few minutes before a buzzer signaling the end goes off, allowing the next tribute to speak with Caesar. As for Caesar, he gives questions and follows up answers with silly one-liners directed at the audience.
Trying to sit ‘polite’ like Effie showed you felt ridiculous, but you knew that you wouldn't get sponsors by being a slob, so you sat straight and tall with your hands in your lap. The districts that haven’t gone yet dwindle slowly. The girl from district 1 is sexy and provocative in her transparent gown, which easily fits due to her innate beauty. The giant boy from district 2 seems to be playing a ruthless killing machine, and you believe it. The fox-faced girl from district 5 is mysterious and sly.
You spot Cinna as he takes his place next to the other stylists, but your anxiety isn’t yet extinguished. The boy from district 10 is quiet, like a mouse. Rue struts on stage in a beautiful gown equipt with wings. The crowd grows silent as she flutters to her seat like a butterfly. Caesar is kind and sweet to her, and you’re grateful. He asks her what her greatest strength in the arena will be and she easily answers. “I’m very hard to catch.” Her voice trembles. “And if they can’t catch me, they can’t kill me. So don’t count me out.” Caesar replies encouragingly.
The boy from district 11, Thresh you learned his name to be, is built like a beast. He’s at least six and a half feet tall, towering over Caesar, and you can tell through his suit that he is built like a brick wall in terms of muscle. He rejected the invites from the careers and tends to be quiet, avoiding speaking to most. He scored a ten even though he seemed disinterested in training, so you immediately know he is a large threat. He answers with a simple yes or no and avoids Caesar's fun banter.
If I were built like him, I could get away with being hostile and rude easily. You curse your size.
They call your name. You feel like you’re moving through water, your limbs growing heavy as you stand. You walk to the center stage next to Caesar and shake his hand. “So, Katniss, the capitol must be quite a change from District 12. What’s impressed you the most since you arrived here?” asks Caesar.
You struggled to think fast while trying to be honest. Be yourself. You could hear Cinna say to you. Cinna! You look for him in the crowd. “Probably the lights.” Caesar laughs a bit as some of the audience joins in. “The lights? The ones from the buildings?” Caesar asks. “Yes. They don’t have lights like that back home.” You answer. “They are quite captivating!” Caesar returns.
“Now,” He says your name. “When you came out in the opening ceremonies, my heart actually stopped. What did you think of that costume?”
Cinna raises an eyebrow at you. Be honest. “I mean, once I got over the fear of being barbecued alive, I really started to admire the outfit and the wonderful stylist who made it.I almost couldn’t believe that I got the opportunity to wear something so pretty. I can’t believe I’m wearing this!” You hold out your arms and admire the jewels sewn to the fabric there.
You stood and showed off the pants as well, hearing the audience cheer and yell. “If only we mined for diamonds back in district 12. Then, I would have worn this everyday back home!” You laugh, sitting back down. Caesar gives a real laugh, leading the audience to do the same. “So, how about that training score? E-le-ven. Give us a hint about what happened there.”
You look at the gamemakers and give a shit-eating grin. “Let’s just say that I was hard to ignore.” The cameras look right to the gamemakers, who are now laughing and nodding. “You’re killing us,” Caesar says, mimicking actual pain. “I thought I wasn’t supposed to talk about it?” You say cheekily. A voice sounds from the gamemakers, “He’s not!”
“Sorry, but my lips are sealed.” You brought a hand to your mouth, pulling an imaginary zipper over it before locking it and throwing away the fake key.
“Let's go back then, to the moment they called your sister’s name at the reaping,” says Caesar. He seems significantly less chipper and more reserved. “And you volunteered. Can you tell us about her?”
No. Not these weirdos. But, Cinna, you can tell. You find his face again, and you can tell there's sadness there. “Her name is Amelia, and she’s just a year older than me, but she’s raised both my younger brother, Ezra, and I ever since our parents died. I love her and my brother more than anything. More than life itself, I would argue.” You could hear a pin drop in the city circle.
“What did she say to you? After the reaping?” Caesar asks. You swallowed and tried to blink some of the tears away, blinking wildly to try and make them leave. “She called me the most stupid kid she knows. Which is her way of saying she loves me.” The room remained silent.
“And what did you say?” Caesar prompts gently.
“I told her to stay strong until I get back.” you said sternly, paraphrasing your memory. You sat up straight and lifted your head up a bit more.
“I bet you did,” Caesar says, giving you a squeeze on the arm. The buzzer sounds off. “Sorry we’re out of time. Best of luck,” He says your name to the crowd, “tribute of district 12!” The applause continues long after you’ve taken your seat. You look to Cinna to see his reaction. He is showing you a subtle thumbs up from his seat.
You try to pay attention to Peeta’s interview, but you’re in a small haze much of the first minute or so. The audience loves him, laughing and shouting after he speaks. He seems to be going for the whole “baker's son” thing hard, as he compares the tributes to different kinds of breads from their district, which makes you think of the bread basket during training.
He starts a funny anecdote about how difficult the capitol showers are to use, asking “Tell me, do I still smell like roses?” Him and Caesar then take turns smelling each other. Caesar decides to change topics by asking if Peeta has a partner back home. You decide to listen carefully to this, though you weren’t sure why. Getting to know the boy you wanted to befriend before you or him inevitably dies?
Peeta hesitates, shaking his head unconvincingly. “Handsome lad like you. There must be some special person. Come on, what’s their name?” Peeta sighs. “Well, there is this one boy. I’ve had a crush on him ever since I could remember. But, I’m pretty sure he didn’t know I was alive until the reaping.” It surprises you that he likes a boy, though you suppose you liked them too. You wondered who this boy could be. Thinking over a few possible candidates before giving up. The crowd sympathizes with Peeta, sighing.
“He have another fellow?” asks Caesar.
“I don’t know, but a lot of people do like him.” says Peeta.
“So, here’s what you do. You win, you go home. He can’t turn you down then, eh?” Caesar says encouragingly. “I don’t think it’s going to work out. Winning…won’t help in my case.” Peeta says.
“Why ever not?” Caesar says, just as confused as you were.
Peeta blushes and turns as red as a beet, stammering out, “Because…because…he’s in here with me.”