Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

AUTHOR NOTES:

Okay so I’m going to have to make a quick note about everything that has gone on in this fanfic.

1. Peeta Mellark is reaped for the 74th Games with another random girl and is killed by Cato due to his leg being infected. Cato takes Brutus’s place in the Quarter Quell and he is currently 19 years old.
2. Finnick is five years younger than canon and wins the 70th Hunger Games instead of Annie Cresta. Because of that, he's two years older than Katniss. I figured it’ll be weird if he’s 24 years old and she’s 17. Age difference is always something that bothers me.
3. Annie Cresta will be Annie Odair, sister to Finnick instead of a love interest. She was never reaped for the Games, so I’m switching her up a bit. Annie will win the 71st Hunger Games instead of the 70th, making Annie and Finnick a sibling duo to the Games.
4. Katniss knows how to use a lot of other weapons. She doesn’t outright train with them the way Careers does but… come on! Katniss has access to using bows and knives so why wouldn’t she train with them in case she ever gets Reaped? She is mostly trained in bow and arrows, but she knows how to use ranged weapons like throwing knives, spears, throwing darts and melee weapons like quarterstaffs, hand-to-hand spears and knives.
5. Mr. Everdeen also makes other ranged weapons because he can’t just start with a bow from the very beginning, does he? Using and making a bow and arrow is actually a lot harder than using and making things like spears and darts, so I made it so that he made other weapons for hunting before he got good enough to make a bow and arrows.
6. District 12 respects Katniss. I know it happens in canon, but here, I’m fleshing out the fact that she provides them fresh food and such.
7. Katniss has a closer bond to Madge and Mrs. Everdeen. Don’t ask me why I add that, I just want to add that.

PROLOGUE

I breathed out a sigh of relief as Amelia Jacobs was reaped on not Prim or me. A weight was lifted off my shoulders, relief pouring through me. I thanked whatever higher power was out there that me or worse, Prim , didn’t get reaped.

Effie Trinket quickly moved to the second glass bowl, placing her hand in it before drawing out a name. “The male tribute for the 74th Hunger Games is… Peeta Mellark.”

Cold swept through my body, memories of me shivering in the rain and Peeta tossing me the burnt bread that saved mine and Prim’s lives flashing through my mind. I wished that I could help him to repay the debt that I owed him, but I can’t. The tributes were chosen and things were set in stone. Peeta will die and nothing will change that.

__________

My eyes widened as I watched Peeta Mellark confess his love for me to the world. I narrowed my eyes. How dare he? How dare he make me look like some weak little fool?

A small, hidden part of me wondered if it was true or just a way to gain sponsors. I quickly rolled my eyes at that. Obviously it’s a way to gain sponsors, although there certainly are some elements that were true. If only the Capitolites would stop hounding me, it’ll be great too.

__________

Peeta died a few days into the Games due to an infected leg. I wasn’t surprised but I did wish that Peeta didn’t make it to the Final Eight. Maybe then, the Capitol reporters won’t hound and pester me with questions. I shrugged off his death as if it’s a mere inconvenience and went back to my life before Peeta Mellark threw it off balance with his little confession.

The Everdeen luck ran out the next year.

Chapter Text

CHAPTER 1

I woke up early in the morning, my fingers curled over my empty bed, glancing at Prim who; at some point during my sleep, probably had bad dreams and climbed into bed with our mother. It made sense. Today is the Reaping Day after all. And not just any Reaping Day, but one for the Quarter Quell. I didn’t want to think about it.

My eyes softened ever-so-slightly at the sight of my sister and I slid out of bed and quickly slipped on my trousers, a shirt, my father's hunting jacket and a pair of boots. I braided my hair tightly and grabbed my forage bag, snatching the goat cheese that Prim left for me along the way.

I took a longer time to get to the fence that surrounded District 12 that day. The streets were empty of men and women with hunched shoulders and swollen knuckles. Men and women who gave up on cleaning their cracked nails and who’d either die of black lungs or some kind of mining accident. Most slept in, if they could.

The boys are safe this time. Since the President has announced the twist to the Third Quarter Quell, every family with a boy broke into sighs of happiness whilst families with girls worried and panicked. Due to the lack of female victors, girls would be reaped as usual.

Their house is not far from the fence that circled the District. In theory, it’s supposed to be electrified at all times, but District 12 is poor. Besides, it just makes things easier for the few souls brave enough to go to the woods for some game. The few brave souls like me and Gale.

I stopped in front of the fence, listening for the hum of electricity just in case before flattening herself on the ground and rolling under the loose wire. As soon as I was in the woods, I retrieved my hunting weapons, carefully wrapped in waterproof covers. I drew out a belt of knives that took me six months to gather - I had to trade one fourth of my game for every knife with the local blacksmith, but it was worth it in the end.

Now I have fifteen knives that can be used for hunting and even combat if needed. It was sheathed in a belt made of worn leather that I traded for enough bear meat to keep the largest family in Twelve full for at least two days.

Not a lot of people would be willing to go into the woods to hunt, but the few that do -meaning only me and Gale- are often considered the closest thing to invincible in the District. We provide fresh meat and fruits that no one else has access to except the other few souls who sneak out to pick apples, always making sure that the Meadows are within their sight. It’s a big risk, but it offers us a thicker layer protection.

I pulled out my last weapon, a handful of throwing darts that was tied together with a length of leather that could be attached to my belt. Each dart had turkey feathers as a fletching, with a wooden arrowhead. My father made this for me, before he died. It was originally hidden away in a dry hole that was covered with a slab of wood and waterproof wraps before I moved it here.

I kept my bow and arrows there, sure that I won’t need them. Besides, I want to use other weapons. I’m already familiar with the bow and arrows, and although I’m naturally skilled with ranged weapons -according to Gale-, I’m not quite as good as I am with archery.

I made my way over the hills, towards a rocky ledge overlooking the valley, a thick group of berries and vines from trees protecting me and Gale from anyone who could be watching.

“Hey Catnip,” Gale said with a smile upon seeing me. He held up a rather large loaf of bread, one that should last both of our families for an entire day. “Look what I bartered.”

My mouth fell open and I gently pried the bread from Gale’s hand. It's still hot, and it’s real bakery bread. Not the ones from grain rations. I sniffed the sweet scent, humming as I did so. These kinds of bread are usually reserved for special occasions like today. “How much did it cost for this loaf of bread?”

Gale shrugged, “Old man’s either feeling sentimental or generous today. It only cost a squirrel and some berries.”

“That’s worth more than last time,” I noted lightly, pulling out the carefully wrapped cheese from the deep pockets of my trousers. “Prim left us some goat cheese. Throw in a few berries and this’ll be a feast.”

“Thank Prim,” Gale said with a smile. Gale plucked a berry from the bushes, tossing it in the air before swallowing it. He tossed another towards me, which I caught with my mouth, breaking the delicate skin and tasting the sweet tartness that exploded across my tongue. “Happy Hunger Games-”

I plucked another berry, this time tossing it towards Gale before taking another for herself, “-And may the odds be ever in your favor.”

We burst out into laughter. We had to joke, because the alternative is being scared out of our wits. Well, it’s mostly me who had to be scared this year. Gale is nineteen, and thus, safe from the Reapings. His brother Rory would be eligible for the Reaping this year, at the age of thirteen, but due to the ‘Only Victors Will Be Reaped’ twist, it meant that boys in District 12 are safe because District 12 has a single living victor; Haymitch Abernathy. Due to the lack of female victors however, girls would be reaped as usual.

Prim has two slips of paper, but I have twenty four slips in the bowl.

“Are you nervous?” Gale asked, biting a slice of his bread.

I snorted, “Why wouldn’t I be? If I’m reaped, then it means that I’m going to face off against experienced victors. Anyone who is not nervous is either brave or an idiot. And if Prim is reaped…” I trailed off.

“You’d volunteer in her place,” Gale said simply.

It was my plan. I’d do whatever I can to keep Prim away from the Games, even if it means death. It’s why I trained myself to use so many weapons. Most of them were carved by my father, like my darts, bow and arrows and spears. Some, like my throwing axes and knives, had to be secretly and anonymously bartered. Gale managed to sneak out pickaxes from the mines that were surprisingly easy to use. We had to improvise as well, using branches and carving and smoothening it to make quarterstaffs. We knew how to fight enough to survive, but not enough for someone to get suspicious.

At some point or another, I knew that we’d have to train Prim, Rory, Vick and Posy as well, but as long as she’s eligible for reaping, the two of us decided to hold out.

“I’d volunteer in her place,” I agreed.

Once we’re finished, Gale stood up, dusting off his pants, “What do you want to do today?”

We can hunt, fish, gather or train. I gave my darts -laced with sedatives from Valerian- a look. As much as I want to train with the quarterstaffs, today’s the Reaping Day. If we get out alive, it means celebration. Celebration means proper food. “Let’s split up today. You gather and set up snares. I need to let out some energy, so I’ll hunt.”

Gale nodded in understanding, “Don’t worry. Hunting’s a pretty good way to train. Besides, we’re near to the next hiding spot. You can use the spears there. Get something good for tonight.”

Tonight. Once the reaping is done, everyone except two families would be celebrating because their children would be safe for another year. At least two families would shut their doors and figure out how to handle their unavoidable loss, however. Reaping Days are also days that we managed to sell the most games because a lot of people would want fresh food to celebrate.

A short distance away from mine and Gale’s spot, was another hiding spot for one of my father's weapons. They were a large bundle of spears hidden in a hollow wooden log that had hinges at one side. The spears were bundled together similarly to the darts, with loops tied around the shaft of each spear so they could be easily grabbed and the other spears won’t fall.

And two and a half hours later, I had a bag slung over my shoulders with two turkeys slung over it towards mine and Gale’s meeting spot where we skinned the squirrels and rats that he caught and plucked the turkeys. He gathered a good basketful of berries, and best of all; apples and some wild plums, the latter a rarity that we see once a year.

We went to the Hob on the way home, where we traded half of our squirrels for two loaves of good bread, one third of the rats for salt, we traded the rest of rats for a good amount of coins and gave the turkey to Greasy Sae for two handfuls of coins and a few chunks of paraffin.

After we’re finished with our business in the Hob, we go to the mayor’s house to sell some strawberries and maybe the wild plums, knowing he has a fondness for them and could afford our price.

It was Madge who opened the door. She’s the mayor’s daughter, but she isn’t a snob like you’d expect. There’s exactly ten people who I can say that I can trust and she’s one of them. My family and the Hawthornes make nine, including my father. The last one on the list is Madge. I won’t call her my friend or anything, but I do trust her to watch my back and my family’s.

She wore a white dress similar to the one from the reaping last year with the same golden mockingjay pin on her chest.

“Hi Katniss,” she said with a small smile then nodded in greeting at Gale. Gale was always confused with our strange friendship, but he was nicer to her than most Merchants because of this.

I handed her half of our strawberries, “Madge. We have some wild plums if you want them.”

Madge’s eyes lit up and she nodded, “Yes. I’d like some. How much.”

“Fifteen coins,” Gale said automatically.

We swapped hands, and just before we left, Madge pulled me into a quick hug. My eyes snapped open in surprise, but I awkwardly patted her back. “Good luck Katniss.”

“You too.”

Gale and I walked back to Seam and split our shares evenly. I took one half of the turkey along with a few feathers to make some new darts and spears whilst Gale took the rest of the turkey. Our coins, paraffin wax, salts and bread were halved evenly as usual.

“See you in the square,” Gale said as we separated.

Back home, I find my mother and sister ready to go, with a lunch from squirrel meat yesterday set out for me. I quickly shoved down my food, earning a disapproving look from my mother.

“Careful,” she said, “You’ll choke.”

Our relationship with each other was somewhat mended. There’ll always be that tiny little crack that refuses to close, but for most part, I forgave her. I think I understand most of it.

“At least if I choke, then I won’t be reaped.” I didn’t mean it. My mother and Prim know that. There’s no way that I’m going to do it because it meant leaving Prim alone and unsafe.

“Mom set your clothes for you upstairs,” Prim added helpfully.

I nodded and bathed myself, scrubbing my skin raw until there’s no hint of dirt left under my skin, my nails clean for once. I towel-dried my hair, and rebraided it into a similar tight braid, dressing in a blue dress with matching shoes like the one I wore last year.

“You look beautiful,” Prim said with a sigh.

I ignored the comment and smoothed out her blouse, “Tuck your tail in, will you?”

Prim giggled, “Quack.”

I rolled my eyes fondly, “Quack yourself, little duck.”

An hour later, we left for the square. It was surrounded by shops and on market days, it has a holiday festive feeling to it, but on Reaping Days, there’s a grimness to it that was highlighted by the bright banners and the buzzing camera crews over the rooftops.

Us girls were gathered into groups, marked by age and I found myself staring at the podium, where Mayor Undersee and the district escort, Effie Trinket, was sitting. Haymitch Abernathy stood off at the side, a frown present on his forehead. I found myself disgusted that he lost his drunken look, his eyes sober. He had noticeably gained some muscles sometime between the Quarter Quell announcement and the Reaping.

When the clock struck two, the mayor read off the same old thing about the Dark Days that I found myself ignoring until Effie Trinket took the stage.

“Happy Hunger Games and may the odds be ever in your favor. As always, ladies first,” she said with a garishly large smile, “As always, Ladies First.” She reached into the large glass bowl, pulling out a slip of paper before taking the center of the stage. Please. Please, don’t let it be me or Prim. Please not Prim.

“Primrose Everdeen.”

Chapter Text

CHAPTER 2

I can’t speak. I can’t even breathe. I remembered when Gale landed two consecutive hits on me once. I was left wheezing and gasping for breath when the butt of the spear hit my side.

The sensation was exactly what I was feeling now.

Then the sounds of the crowd’s harsh breathing of anger hit me. The faint sound of Prim’s footsteps as she walked towards the podium crashed into me. I pushed through the crowds, determined to stop it. Prim is not going into the Games. Especially not the Quarter Quell.

“Prim!” I shouted, once I broke free of the crowds. Several Peacekeepers made their way towards me, to stop me, I supposed. “Prim!”

“Katniss!” Prim shouted back, her eyes wide with fear, lips trembling in terror as two Peacekeepers roughly grabbed me by my arms.

“I volunteer!” I said before the Peacekeepers could drag me away. “I volunteer as tribute!”

Silence fell over the crowds, only broken by a few quiet murmurs of pity. I clenched my fists. I don’t need their pity.

“Lovely,” Effie Trinket said with a saccharine smile. “I believe we have a tribute. Well? Come on up now, dear.”

“No, Katniss!” Prim wailed, wrapping her arms around me like a vice, “You can’t go!”

“Prim, let go,” I said harshly, but not coldly either, refusing to show an ounce of fear on my face. This is televised to the world and I refuse to let anyone think that I am weak. If they see my tears, I’d be marked as a target for sure. “Let me go.”

Gale came at that moment, heaving a still-wailing Prim into his arms, “Good luck, Catnip.”

Steeling myself, I made my way to the stage and towards certain death. If it’s a normal game, there’s that tiny chance that everyone is an idiot and that I’ll survive. But not now. Now, I’m going to an arena filled with Victors, trained killers .

“Well,” Effie Trinket gushes, “I believe we have a Tribute. What’s your name dear?”

I stayed silent, as silent as the crowds who looked at Prim and my mother with pity, who looked at me with apprehension and looked at the escort with anger and rage.

“Well?”

“Katniss Everdeen,” I said, my voice carrying across the square.

“I bet my buttons that was your sister,” she says, her voice still nauseously sweet, “Don’t want her to take all the glory, now do we? Come on, everybody let’s have a big round of applause for our newest tribute!”

I glared at her then at the crowd, daring them to make a sound. No one clapped. There’s not a sound to be made, not even from the ones holding the betting slips. Maybe it’s because they’ve brought my game, or met my father, or encountered Prim, who no one can’t help loving. Pride spread through me as the angry faces of District 12’s residents’ silence took on the most blatant form of dissent they could manage. We do not condone. We do not agree.

Then something unexpected happens. My mother lifts her three middle fingers to her lips before raising it to the air, followed by my sister, then the Hawthornes, then Madge and her father, the people I trade with regularly, the people in the Hob, until eventually, everyone had their three middle finger from their left hand raised in the air. It was a rarely used gesture that was usually seen in funerals. It meant thanks, admiration and good-bye to someone you love.

Now I am truly in danger of crying but thankfully, Effie Trinket is already moving on. “What an exciting day!” she exclaimed, “But now, for the male tributes.”

She plants her hand inside a glass bowl with a single slip of paper, and draws it out, “Haymitch Abernathy.”

“Your Tributes,” Effie says with a dramatic wave, “Katniss Everdeen and Haymitch Abernathy.”

The anthem of Panem starts to play and as soon as it finishes, a group of Peacekeepers takes me to custody whilst the other takes Haymitch. When I say custody, I don’t mean the kind in which they handcuffed me or anything, they merely escorted me to the Justice Building, where I was put in a room which Prim and my mother quickly entered.

“Katniss!” Prim shouts, hugging me tightly, my mother soon joining in. For a few minutes, we didn’t speak, basking in the last moments we’d ever ever have together. Then I broke the silence, telling them what they must remember to do, now that I won’t be there.

Prim is not to take any tesserae. They can get by, if they’re careful, on selling Prim’s goat milk and cheese and the small apothecary business my mother now runs for the people in the Seam. Gale will get her the herbs she doesn’t grow herself, but she must be very careful to describe them because he’s not as familiar with them as I am. He’ll also bring them game—he and I made a pact about this a year or so ago—and will probably not ask for compensation, but they should thank him with some kind of trade, like milk or medicine. 

I don’t bother suggesting Prim learn to hunt. I tried to teach her a couple of times and it was disastrous. The woods terrified her, and whenever I shot something, she’d get teary and talk about how we might be able to heal it if we got it home soon enough. But she makes out well with her goat, so I concentrate on that. I add that they should probably buy another goat if they can, preferably a male so that they can sell the goats’ babies for money or raise some of those goats for more milk, cheese and flesh when it comes down to it.

“Take care of yourself, okay,” I said, tightening my grip on Prim’s.

“It’s alright Katniss,” Prim replies, “But you have to take care too. You’re fast, and brave. And you know how to use a lot of weapons. You can win.”

I shook my head hopelessly, “I can’t Prim. I’m good at ranged weapons, but the only close combat weapons I can use are quarterstaffs, pickaxes, knives and spears. You do remember the year when the only weapons available in the arena were maces, right?”

“But it’s the Quarter Quell!” Prim whined, “With all of those former victors as Tribute, they’ll have lots of weapons that you can use there!”

I nodded at that, “Exactly, Prim. Former victors. They’re all experienced killers. I’m not going to live but you both have to promise me that you two will live. Promise me.”

My mother laid a hand on my shoulder, “We’d be fine, Katniss. I promise you that we’ll be fine.”

I hugged them both tightly, “I’ll try to win. I’m not going down without a fight.”

And then the Peacekeeper is at the door, signaling our time is up, and we’re all hugging one another so hard it hurts and all I’m saying is “I love you. I love you both.” And they’re saying it back and then the Peacekeeper orders them out and the door closes. I bury my head in one of the velvet pillows as if this can block the whole thing out.

My next guest was Madge, who walked straight up to me. She wasn’t weepy or evasive, instead there’s an urgent feeling that surrounded her. She handed me her golden pin, pinning it on my shirt.

“They let you wear a token of your district, I want you to wear this,” Madge says, “It was my aunt’s when she went to the arena with Haymitch Abernathy, maybe the pin is destined to go to the arena one last time. This time, worn by the future Victor. Promise me you’ll wear it to the arena?”

I gulped, “Of course, Madge.”

She pressed a kiss to my cheeks before leaving the room.

Finally, Gale is here and when he opens his arms, I don’t hesitate to go into them, tightening my arms around him. “Listen,” he says, “You have to get your hands on some kind of ranged weapon. You’re good at those, a natural event. If you can perfect the art of throwing spears in less than two weeks, you can perfect the art of using some other ranged weapon in the same time. That’s your best chance of survival.”

“They don’t always have ranged weapons,” I said, remembering my conversation with Prim.

Gale grips me tightly, “Then find another weapon. A knife is almost always available. Since this is a Quarter Quell, I’m sure there’d be plenty of different kinds of weapons available for you to use.”

“And if there’s no weapons available,” I countered, “You said it yourself, this is a Quarter Quell. What if those Capitolites want entertainment through hand-to-hand combat?”

“Then make a weapon,” says Gale desperately, “Or survive. Katniss, it’s just hunting. You’re good at that.”

“Hunting humans,” I reminded him.

“How different is it, really?”

The awful thing is, if I can forget that they’re humans, it’ll be far too easy. I don’t have a killer’s instinct, but I have a hunter’s instinct. Hand me some kind of ranged weapon or a melee weapon that I either know how to use or it’s easy to use and I can hunt them down like animals. I grimaced. Well, I’d be hunting down armed animals who have killing instincts and will rip me apart without a thought.

The Peacekeepers are back far too soon and pull Gale away from me. Panicking, I clung to his hand and said, “Don’t let them starve!”

“I won’t! I promise I won’t, Katni-” he says as they yank us apart. The door slams shut and I’ll never get to hear what he wanted to tell me.

The ride from the Justice Building to the train station was short, but noticeably uncomfortable with Haymitch and Effie Trinket in there as well. I’ve never ridden in a car, barely even ridden in wagons. People from Seam usually walk and some like me and Gale are more than used to it.

I was right to not cry. The amount of reporters and cameras that swarmed us was beyond annoying and I had to fight off the urge to not punch one of the reporters when they asked me if I volunteered to kill Cato in order to avenge the ‘love of my life’. I knew he was referring to Peeta.

Haymitch was clearly somewhat used to the attention though, and handled the reporters with his words alone, trampling down their questions without offending them in the smallest way.

The train’s speed was faster than anything I’ve ever ridden. I watched closely as the scenery passed by, District 12 slowly fading from my view. Effie Trinket ushered me into a bedroom of my own, with a bed pushed to the side with drawers and wardrobe closets containing more clothes than I’ve ever worn in my entire life.

I went through the wardrobes, grimacing at some of the clothes before pulling out a pair of sturdy black pants that was definitely form fitting. It was paired with a dark navy shirt with short sleeves, a matching black jacket and navy boots. I took a quick shower in the private bathroom, and got dressed again, sitting on the too-comfortable bed.

I’m on the Tribute Train , I thought. Right then, the reality of the situation hit me like a brick. I’m on the Tribute Train, going to the Third Quarter Quell where I will be competing against former Victors who have killed at least once .

I felt tears prick my eyes, but I refused to let them fall, because that would mean giving up, and I do not give up. All of my hope lies with Prim, and my mother and Gale who are all waiting for me at home. I promised Prim to try my best and I will do so.

Immediately, an inkling of a plan started to form in my mind. I remembered Johanna Mason, what she did to win her Games, and this time, I knew that I don’t even need to pretend that I’m the weakest Tribute in this Games. Compared to Prim and everyone else in District 12, I am strong, but compared to all of these former Victors? I’m practically a flesh bag for them to train on.

Then I remembered Gale’s words. I can find ranged weapons, or a melee weapon I can use and hide my skill with them. If I can survive the Cornucopia Bloodbath by running away, then I’d be marked off as lucky. If I stick to learning how to survive in training, they can pin on me being able to live for so long as being lucky and smart. I could train with some weapons, and say that the adrenaline rush gave me the instincts I needed for it.

With a plan in my mind, I quietly let out a sigh, wishing that Prim was never reaped in the first place. I’ll never regret volunteering in her place, but I’ll always hold that little wish for as long as I live.

“Katniss, dear?” called Effie Trinket, “It’s time for dinner!”

Pulling myself off the bed, I trudged my way into another train car that was specifically there for eating. Laid out on the table was broth with thinly cut beef, cold fruits piled to the side, rice and bread carefully stacked against each other with a large assortment of other dishes like steaks, mashed potato, briskets and pork.

“Had a good day, sweetheart?” Haymitch asked as I slid into a seat.

I glared at him as I poured a helping of the beef stew into my bowl, “I don’t know. Are you sober?”

I ripped off some bread, taking a bite out of it before sipping the soup. I used my fork to lift off a slab of steak and a heaping of mashed potatoes before reaching them in gravy. They were quite good.

Effie hummed in an approval all of the sudden, “Good, at least you have some manners. I remember the tributes from two years ago. Ghastly! They ate like a bunch of wild animals!”

I remembered the Tributes two years ago. They were part of the poorest in Seam, and are incredibly skinny. I gave them scraps of food when I could -around twice every ten days- to those kinds of kids. No doubt they were starving. I dropped my utensils at that and picked up my bowl, drinking the broth the way I would water before using my fingers to to pick up the thinly sliced beef from the broth and lifted it to my mouth, making a show of smacking my lips and licking my fingers.

Effie was noticeably distressed and disgusted. Good.

Haymitch raised an eyebrow, “Hungry?”

I wasn’t hungry at the slightest, having eaten a proper meal today, but I nodded, answering in the most sarcastic way possible. “Very, very hungry. Food is hard to come by in Seams.”

“Do you have a plan to win?” Haymitch asks carefully.

I stiffened, “Why would I tell you that? So you can use it against me or something?”

“So you can survive, Sweetheart,” he corrects me automatically, “If either one of us are going to live, then we’re going to have to be allies. I already secured an alliance with Three, Four, Six, Seven, Eight, Ten and Eleven, it makes sense to add another one from Twelve. Even if you’re an amateur.”

I growled and lifted my knife, stabbing it between his fingers, “Thanks, but I don’t want help. I don’t do well with people.”

Haymitch yelped, pulling his hands back. “You almost took off my fingers!”

“That’s mahogany!” Effie shouted loudly.

I ignored her and turned to Haymitch, “Do you want me to take off your fingers then?”

“Interesting. So I have a fighter this year,” Haymitch said with a tilt of his head. “Anything else you can do with the knife sweetheart?”

I pulled the knife out of the table and weighed it. It’s not a good knife for any sort of combat purposes, but it’ll do. I eyed the portrait behind Haymitch. I drew my arm back and threw, the knife spinning once and twice before sinking into the eye of the person in the portrait.

Haymitch observed me carefully and nodded in approval, “Keep your spirit, Sweetheart. Keep it with you and you’ll find yourself out of there alive.”

I wondered what he meant by that. Then I wondered how a drunk like him could have so many alliances. I remembered him on other Reaping days. How his eyes were unnervingly clear despite him being drunk. It occured to me then that at some point, he could’ve been immune to the effects of alcohol due to how much he’s drinking. I knew it couldn’t be possible, so there must be some other explanation.

I shoved the thought aside, filing it for later. For all I know, Haymitch Abernathy might be more sober than drunk. For all anyone knows, he might’ve been pretending this entire time. And I’m going to find out why. “Well, I’m going to die anyways, might as well not prolong my suffering.”

I wiped my fingers clean and left for my bedroom, mulling the information over my head.

Chapter Text

CHAPTER 3

I woke up the next day, still dressed in the clothes I changed into yesterday. I gingerly lifted my blue dress and changed into them, making sure to pin the mockingjay pin to my chest.

I smoothed out my dress and shifted slightly when I heard the crinkling of paper in the pockets of my dress. With a frown, I reached into it, pulling out several folded pieces of papers. I unfold them, my lips curving into a smile as I read through its contents. It was a list of strategies, traps, arenas and what happened in the past Games.

We thought about listing poisonous plants and healing herbs, snares and the things needed for survival at first, but Gale and I knew our way around survival and so did Rory. Prim knew about poison and healing more than anyone else, so we threw out that plan in favor of listing strategies and possible Gamemaker traps instead. There are a few lists of snares and recently updated survival tools, but I didn’t pay much attention to them.

I remembered pulling Prim, Gale and my mother aside to make this list a few years ago. We all had several copies of it, so that we can use it if one of us gets Reaped. I must’ve slipped it into my pocket at one point and forgot about it. The papers were pressed together and well-worn, bound together with a thin rope made from tree bark. I slipped it back into the pockets of my dress, thankful for the deep pockets that hid the lump of the folded papers.

I went to the dining train car, where I found Effie Trinket shuffling through papers, an assortment of food that was slightly smaller than last night’s spread across the tables.

Eggs, sausages and bacon were piled high with pancakes, waffles, yogurts and other fruits. There was a basket of breads of all sorts; stick-like breads, rolls, sliced bread and buns, cubes of butter and cheeses stacked on a platter along with plenty of other breakfast foods.

It made me sick to see how much food was there, how the people from Seam and some from town were starving whilst all of these Capitolites went on with their opalescent life.

Haymitch soons enters the room and that’s when Effie Trinket starts to rattle on about schedules, manners and the likes. I rolled my eyes and divided my focus, half-listening to her and half-ignoring her while I dug into the food. It was the word; ‘Gala’ that caused me to choke on my eggs before forcefully swallowing them.

“Gala?” I said, practically spitting out the words.

Effie Trinket nodded, “Oh, yes! A gala. It’s the Third Quarter Quell, so in honor of that, President Snow decided to throw a gala to give sponsors the opportunity to meet the Tributes in person. It’s going to be the greatest event of the year! Anyone who is anyone would have to go there. I’m sure your stylist had already designed a dress for the ball, Katniss, dear.”

My face shifted into an involuntary scowl, “A dress? Why do I have to wear a dress?”

“You’re wearing a dress, Sweetheart,” Haymitch says as he takes a bite out of his own food.

I glared at him, “It doesn’t count, drunkard.”

Haymitch laughs at that, throwing his head backwards, “Keep that up and you’ll have plenty of sponsors. The Capitol liks spitfires and you just happen to be one.”

“I’m not going to be their little doll,” I said with a huff.

Effie Trinket gave me a guffaw at that, “Katniss! These people will be your sponsors! They choose whether you’d live or die! If you don’t impress them, then you might as well be dead. Dead! I’d prefer that my first year as a pseudo-mentor does not finish with my tribute without a single sponsor and dying before the first hour, thank you very much.”

I rolled my eyes at that. Even if I do get some sponsors, it’s unlikely that I’d survive. I’d be going against Victors , all who are likely to have killed at least once. “Let me know when the Capitol decides to pick me , a random girl from Twelve, over former Victors. Let’s face the fact that I have next to no chance of surviving the arena, shall we?”

“So you’re going to give up because of that?” Haymitch sneers, “You know, the way Peeta talks about you, I’d think that you’re the spunkiest kid alive. I guess he was wrong. Maybe, that little knife show of yours was just a beast. Maybe, the fire in you from the time you volunteered came from adrenaline. I was wrong to think that you’re different from all of those Tributes.”

My eyes flashed in anger, “Ever heard of knowing when your life is bound to end, drunk? When I’m going to the arena, I’m going to fight with everything I have to but the odds of me dying are five times higher than usual. I’m not giving up, but I’m also not naïvely stupid!”

Haymitch let out a soft ‘huh’, leaning into his seat. “I made my decision. I like you kid, and if you know what’s good for you, you’re going to stay alive in that arena.”

I snorted, “And how am I going to do that ?”

“By getting yourself allies.”

I crossed my arms, staring at Haymitch and carefully reading him. His face showed no signs of him lying, his eyes sincere, but then I remembered that being allies would mean that there’s the slight chance that my allies could discover my skill with certain weapons, my knowledge of survival and most importantly, my hunting abilities. I’m not going to let that happen. Worst of all, if the Capitol finds out, then it’s not just my family who’d get into trouble, but the Hawthornes and anyone who trades with us would also get into trouble.

“I’ll consider it.”

Haymitch clapped my shoulder heavily, “You got a good head on your shoulders, don’t lose it. Now, come on, we have to watch the Reaping recaps.”

I scowled at him but followed him and Effie to another train car where there was a set of devices and screens. There were no wires in sight, and unlike the TV at my house, the footage was clear with colors, unlike the staticky black and white one that we own.

“Never seen a television set that’s not half-broken before, have you?” Haymitch says. “Figures. Had the same reaction when I first saw it.”

I glanced at him but didn’t comment as Haymitch turned on the televisions, the screens showing the reapings one by one. I mentally took note of Tributes who would be a threat. Gloss and Cashmere Dubois from One, Cato  and Enobaria Golding from Two, Finnick Odair from Four and Johanna Mason from Seven.

I winced when Annie Odair was reaped. Annie Odair won the seventy-first Hunger Games at the age of seventeen. Back then, she had a lot of popularity by merely being Finnick Odair’s sister. The arena was flooded and Annie won by being the best swimmer. I could certainly see the similarity between Annie and Finnick, both of them having sun-kissed skin, sea-green eyes and slightly similar features.

She went a little crazy after the Games but recovered in a year or two. I vaguely remembered my mother telling me that Annie most likely had a form of mental instability after seeing her district partner get beheaded. She also told me that it’s likely that Annie had some kind of mental medical help -therapy, I think- that helped her recover.

That’s two pairs of siblings this year. White hot rage boiled within me, simmering and ready to tear down everything in my path. More specifically, I was ready to tear down the foundations of the Capitol. It was bad enough that Prim almost entered that arena of killers, but making two pairs of siblings go into the arena?

My nails dug into my hands as I intently watched District 11’s Reaping. I can’t imagine how the Tributes must’ve felt. If one pair of siblings gets to the Final Two… I almost choked at that, realizing that it meant one of the Victors would have to kill their own sibling. I can’t imagine going through that with Prim, it would literally kill me. I would kill myself in order for Prim to live.

I stood up when Prim’s name was called, leaving the train car without a word. Haymitch didn’t stop me, which I was thankful for. I was there to see the Reaping and I knew what exactly happened from a personal perspective. I don’t need to watch it again.

I shut the doors of my train car and carefully slid out the papers containing the notes for the Games and set off to memorizing them.

Chapter Text

I'm very well aware about the mess with chapter orders from last time but it's fixed now. The chapters were wrongly labelled and by trying to fix the mess, it got worse. It's all in order now however.

Chapter Text

CHAPTER 4

Effie called me to the main train car about an hour before we reached the Capitol, meaning that for an entire hour, I was forced to endure Effie Trinket’s useless rambling and look at Haymitch as he tries to shut the former up whilst talking to someone on the phone.

Every now and then, my mind would drift to Haymitch’s words during the first day on the forsaken train and each time, my theories sounded more ridiculous than the rest. Still, the question of how he gained so many allies rested heavily on my mind, refusing to lift its weight. It pressed at me consistently. Then again, I have a perfectly good reason.

As soon as the train reached the Capitol, Effie herded us to the entrance, the doors of the train sliding open. I wondered how exactly these Capitolites made a sliding door seem dramatic. It should be impossible, but maybe it’s the waves of cheering crowds that ‘greeted’ me, how I was suddenly assaulted by the obnoxiously loud sound of the too-bright Capitol.

I stepped off the train as quickly as I could, following Effie and Haymitch who both set off at a brisk pace. I squeezed my way through the grabbing hands of the Capitolites that were far too bright and far too insistent for my liking. My head was held high and proud, face blank to hide my emotions.

I was pulled into a building that was impossibly luxurious and taller than anything I’ve ever seen in my entire life - about a hundred feet tall at the very least. It was made of metal and glass and hints of stone carvings that are probably made by hand.

“That is where us Tributes, Mentors, Stylists, Escorts and whatnot stay,” Haymitch tells me as we enter the building. “A little bit unconventional, sure but also effective. We’re headed to the Remake Centre to meet our stylists and prep team.”

“Remake Centre?” I echoed, shooting a confused look at Haymitch. The name alone gave me just the tiniest idea of what is most likely coming for me and that little idea does not sound good in any way. I eyed Effie with distaste and can only imagine what those people would do to me. The name alone sent horrifying images of my skin being dead, my hair turning into crystals or whatever it is that the Capitol women had and my eyes bleeding with color instead of it’s steely gray.

Haymitch caught my look and shook his head, signalling for me to wipe the look off, I’d guess. “It’s not as bad as it sounds, really. Worst that can happen is that they tear off all of your body hair.”

“ Tear off my body hair?” I repeated with uncertainty, wondering how that’s not as bad as it sounds. In my opinion, it sounded terrible. I’ve never felt the sensation of it personally, but I had sparred with Gale multiple times and Gale had pulled my hair many times. I know exactly how that felt, and if tearing off body hair is as painful as that, then I will personally shoot every Capitolite I see right in the eye with my bow and arrow. If those are unavailable then, I didn’t just train to survive and live (under normal circumstances) for nothing. I’m perfectly capable of clawing out their eyes.

“Yes, Sweetheart,” Haymitch says, sarcasm heavy in his voice. “The Capitolites are going to tear off your body hair. A common procedure among the Capitol, really. If you’re going to survive , you might as well get used to it.”

I noticed how he used ‘survive’ instead of ‘win’, how he stressed the word ‘survive’ more than necessary, as if he’s purposely doing it. I didn’t say anything, however. Circumstances are, somebody would hear me say something out of hand and an accident would happen to me. My face shifted then, losing its steel mask. More likely than not, they’d wait to get rid of me in the arena instead of staging an accident.

I wondered then, if winning -no, surviving - was worth the pain that would come with it. From what I can see, regularly meeting with Capitalites is not exactly a dream come true.

__________

I gritted my teeth, forcing myself to not scream as one of the members of my prep team ripped out the wax that covered my leg, a fairly large amount of hair coming out with it.

“Ooh!” exclaims Venia, a too-bright Capitol woman with an even brighter spiker aqua hair, swirling gold eyebrows and skin that had blue waves tattooed over the collar bones and arms. “Sorry about that, but you’re just so hairy !”

I forced myself to smile, mentally shouting at the woman. “Well, us district people don’t exactly have the resources to clean ourselves up.”

One of my stylists gave me a pitying look and said, “Oh, poor dear! Don’t you worry, we'll get you fixed right up!”

I stopped talking then, limiting my actions to flinches as my body hair is plucked with tweezers. I know that I should be embarrassed, but it was so surreal, not only because of the experience but also because of the people who are plucking my hair off my body.

“Excellent!” one of them says as they step back to admire their handiwork. “You almost look like an actual human being now!”

I forced my lips into a smile, one that won them over completely with the additions of a few words, “Thank you. I don’t get many chances to look nice in District Twelve. There’s not much of a cause to do so seeing as we’d eventually get dirty with all of the coal.”

“Well, now that you’re all prepped up,” chimes another one, “We can call Cinna for you! Oh, he’s going to make you amazing!”

The trio left the room, all three of them chatting in excitement about the prospect of the Games. It’s hard to hate them, when they are so foolish and… sheltered , I suppose. I wondered if all Capitolites are like that.

I vaguely recalled the name ‘Cinna’ as I shifted uncomfortably in the still and silent room, completely naked and waiting for the stylist to come in. He was the stylist who designed last year’s clothes. I remembered as District 12 screamed in fear as Peeta Mellark and Amelia Jacobs emerged, a trail of fire following them because it was their clothes being set on fire.

The doors suddenly opened, and instead of a crazy, color-dumped Capitolite, it was a fairly normal man with dark skin, black eyes, dark hair and a serene and calm smile. His makeup is minimal: merely a gold eyeliner applied with a heavy hand.

“You must be Katniss,” Cinna says as he enters. He snapped his finger, gesturing me to stand up and led me to a slightly raised platform where he carefully inspected me.

I nodded silently as Cinna touched the silky braid that is my hair, inspecting it carefully. “Ingenious work,” he says, “Who did this?”

“My mother did it,” I answered immediately, despite not truly wanting to. Who knows what the Capitol with that information? In hindsight, it’s probably useless, but maybe being exposed to Gale and worrying about Prim being reaped for an entire year is getting to me.

Cinna circles me, but not in an uncomfortable way, “Beautiful, a classic, really. She has very clever fingers.” He tilts his head, “Why don’t you put on your robe so we can have a proper chat?”

Cinna… isn’t what I expected. Not really. I mean, I knew from last year that Cinna is not as eccentric as the other Capitolites, but seeing it firsthand is… odd, to say the least. I guessed it was the difference between expectation and reality.

I pulled on my robe and followed Cinna who told me to sit. I did as told and watched in curiosity as Cinna tapped a screen and pressed a button, causing the top of the table to slide open -somehow disappearing into its metal rim- and split.

I heard a whirring sound and a second tabletop came up from below: holding our lunch. Raw, soft-looking fishes and seafood meticulously laid on a platter with cooked, white grains that were rolled into bite-sized balls beside them. Rolls that consisted of the same raw fishes on the platter, rice and seaweed were placed on another plate that also contained vegetables. Rich sauces were presented on small bowls with utensils beside them. For dessert, there was a series of treats that were brightly colored, filled with creams that matched them.

I wouldn’t even try to recreate this. There’s nothing that can create this back in Twelve, although I imagine that it was more common in Four.

“Dig in,” Cinna invited, holding two sticks and picking a roll up. He dips them into the sauce and eats them whole. I took the two sticks and copied his actions: but with the seafood instead. The sauce was a strange salty-sweet mixture that brought a delicious taste to the bland seafood. It was unlike anything else I’ve ever eaten before. It was cold, but not enough to be uncomfortable. It was squishy, but not entirely unpleasant.

“So Katniss,” Cinna says conversationally as we slowly ate our food, chipping away at the tense silence. “Let’s talk about your costumes for the opening ceremony shall we?”

I remembered the two Tributes from last year, waving and smiling and pretending to be happy as they were pulled by elegant horses. Their costumes consisted of black jumpsuits and capes that were followed by a long trail of fire. It was far, far, far better than any other costumes from before. “You’re not going to set me on fire, are you?”

Cinna shook his head, “Oh no, I don’t think that smiley-person act is a good persona for you, in fact, I was thinking about something that borderlines one smoke and burning coal .”

I was now intrigued. “And how are you going to do that?”

Cinna grins, “Haven’t you heard, Katniss? The Capitol is capable of almost anything.”

__________

As soon as we were finished with lunch, Cinna pulled me away to another room where he started to work on my hair first, undoing my braid before redoing it, making a close replica to the one my mother styled for me. He pinned the stray hair to the braid with red and yellow pins, pinning a crown that was similar to the ones that Victors receive, but black in colour with shifting designs reminiscent of burning coal.

Unlike the female Twelve Tribute from last year that had a simplistic makeup that made her easily recognizable in the arena, mine was dark, applied with a heavy hand with dramatic shadows. I had smoky eyeshadows that trailed off into pale gray, gold-lined eyes that extended into wings, long fake lashes, hints of golden glitter, darkened eyebrows, makeup sharpened features and dark lipstick. Cinna had my arms covered in black dust with hints of shimmering gold and silver, using the same dust to cover my hair.

I was dressed in a fitted jumpsuit this year, with an open skirt flaring out at the hips. The jumpsuit was made of a heavy black material that was soft to the touch, almost similar to leather. My arms were exposed and there were black metal armbands over my arms. The jumpsuit was plain black from afar, but on a closer inspection, it was covered in the same dust that covered my arms and hair.

Cinna adjusted the lighting of the room and pressed a button, a small, circular device with unfamiliar gold markings on it. I looked down with concealed awe as the dress started to glow with colour, shifting shades of whites, golds, yellows, oranges and reds that was a near-exact copy of burning coal. The hem of the dress was lined in orange and red, looking as if it’s ends were singed with a thin trail of smoke coming out of it. It was as if I was wearing the embers myself.

“How did you do this?” I say as I lift the flap of my ‘skirt’ curiously. It was heavy, but cool to the touch. My hand came away slightly covered in dust but I ignored that, deciding that I rather liked the dirty-hand style.

“My partner, Portia, and I spent quite a lot of time watching fire.”

“It’s amazing,” I informed him.

Cinna gave me a smile, “No waving or smiling like last year’s Tribute. When you’re on that chariot, you’re going to look ahead, as if everyone else is below you.”

I nodded. I can do that, besides, I’m angry and sullen most of the time anyways. I remembered the papers in my dress. “Wait! My dress -the one I wore on Reaping Day- can you bring it to my room? As a keepsake, to feel closer to home during my time here. It’ll be a few weeks until the Games will even start.

Cinna nodded and pats my shoulder and handed me the button, “Head to the ground floor of the Remake Centre and wait for me there. I have a few things to get before finishing up. It’s where the chariots and Tributes are gathered before the opening ceremonies. Try to get along with the Vi- Tributes , if you can.”

I scowled, “Not a chance.”

“Having allies will help you in the Arena,” Cinna says.

I raised an eyebrow, “Sure, they can help me, but they can also stab me in the back with a knife, effectively taking me off the game.”

Cinna didn’t answer. After all, I am right.

Chapter Text

CHAPTER 5

I could feel the stares the moment I entered the place. The Tributes from One and Two shot sharp glares at me, one half of the other Tributes sent curious looks at me whilst the rest sent me pitying looks. I knew that they thought that I was going to die. They’re most likely not wrong, but if I’m going to die, I might as well try my best. A look at this place already told me that Woof (the old Tribute from Eight), the Morphling Twins and the two from Nine would be the least of my worries.

I picked out several sugar cubes and headed towards District 12’s chariots, where the horses were attached to. I fed them the sweet cubes, stroking their dark manes and hoping that no one would approach me.

Of course, it doesn’t work. 

I heard the sound of his footsteps, the feeling of a human presence behind me far before I turned around to face Finnick Odair, the District 4 Victor from five years ago and the youngest-ever victor at the age of fourteen. He’s a living legend in Panem. “Hello, Katniss Everdeen,” he says to me, as if we’ve known each other for years. He popped a cube of sugar into his mouth.

I ignored him and kept stroking the mane of my horse, forcing myself not to punch him. It wouldn’t be good to show that I can fight, after all. It would only paint an even bigger target on me.

“Want some sugar?” he asks.

Due to Finnick’s young age, the Capitol people couldn't touch him until three years ago and ever since, he’s been sold off to the rabid dogs. He goes through five or six a year, and no one retains his favour for long. I really can’t say that Finnick is unattractive, but I never really noticed him. I was too busy with keeping my family well-fed and alive.

I turn to him, crossing my arms and looking at him blankly. “No thanks. I’d love to borrow your outfit sometimes though, if I get out alive.”

He grins wickedly sharp, “Thanks. I’d like to believe that there’s some hope for living. You’re absolutely terrifying in that get-up, by the way. I thought your stylist would be putting you in some pretty-girl dress. I mean, it fits the Jacob girl, but it’s so not you.”

“Then what’s me?” I asked rhetorically.

He brushes one of my armbands, “Someone who’s hiding something, someone who prefers to strike from behind the shadows. It’s a shame that we’d eventually have to kill each other. I think that quite a few of the other Victors will like you.”

I shifted slightly, “Is that how you flirt with everyone ?”

Finnick smirks, “Oh, just you wait, Katniss Everdeen, you hadn’t seen just about anything.”

He leaned in closer, his lips almost brushing mine and then, momentarily forgetting my plan to remain hidden, I pulled his arm tightly and maneuvered his body so that his back would face my front. I used my leg to kick him forward before he could react, sending him tumbling to the ground.

I could hear the several of the Stylists and Escorts gasp in shock and surprise and the audible smirks and taunts from the other Tributes and Mentors, the Tributes from One and Two eyeing me like I was prey. I cursed as I forced my body to relax although I still stared at Finnick warily.

“Sugar rots your teeth,” I informed him coldly as he got up. The man eyes me carefully before nodding in approval. I felt cold. Did he do it on purpose ? Did he do that to see if I’m worth targeting ? Suddenly, I felt stupid. Of course, he did . Why else would he do that? I quickly placed Finnick Odair at the top of my danger list, with Cato, Enobaria, Cashmere and Gloss right behind him.

“I thought you said you’re going to keep a downlow, Sweetheart,” Haymitch said as he approached me.

I glanced at him and shrugged, “There’s been a change of plans.”

“You lost control,” he corrects.

“He was getting annoying,” I informed him stiffly, just as District 1 Tributes got on their chariot. The music starts and the procession begins, the first chariot rolling out. I could hear the loud and thunderous screaming of the crowds. I wondered how those Tributes would’ve felt.

Haymitch rolls his eyes but shoves me over to our chariot. “Get on the thing before some Capitolite makes us do it.”

I quickly did as told, the trail of my jumpsuit heavier than usual as I got on the black chariot. I gripped the railing tightly and stiffly as Haymitch stood beside me. “What are the chances that this year’s Tribute Parade would be a repeat of the last?” I asked him. Everyone remembered last year’s Parade, with Twelve taking most of the Capitolites’ attention. This of course, leads to Twelve being the other Tribute’s main target.

“High,” Haymitch says simply. He catches me reaching for the button and stops me. I frowned at him. “Not yet,” he says. “The Capitol likes to be surprised. If we get enough support from them this year, we might just live long enough to survive.”

“So you’ve seen the suit turned on, then?” I asked as we neared the doors.

I didn’t hear Haymitch’s replies because right then and there, the onslaught of the voice of the crowds hit me in the face. I steeled myself and my emotions, feeling as if the cheering could blow me off the chariot at any moment. I gripped the railings tightly. Everywhere I looked, there were screaming of fanfare, Capitolites that were outrageously bright, and lavish decorations.

Haymitch glanced at me, “Look ahead. Don’t look anywhere else. Remember what Cinna told you. We’ll turn our suits on halfway through.”

I nodded and lifted my head slightly, looking ahead. The hysteria and screaming drowned out, the beating of drums and music faded away into a mere backdrop as our chariot sped past by. Haymitch pressed his button, his outfit starting to light up in oranges, reds and golds and I followed soon after.

The screaming got louder, and roses and other things were thrown down. I was vaguely thankful that they avoided me and Haymitch. It'll be a pain if a rose decides to land on my head. I’d have to take it off halfway through the parade and considering the brooding, hardened-person persona that Cinna seems to want me to pick up, it’ll be embarrassing to have to do it.

We circled the loop of City Circle and President Snow began his welcoming speech for the ceremony which I tuned out. The anthem plays again when his speech is finished and the chariots make their final loop around City Circle before heading back to the Training Centre where Cinna, Effie and a woman that I assumed was Portia waited for us.

“Excellent performance, Katniss,” Cinna says with a smile.

Effie claps her hand together and adds in a high-pitched voice, “Oh yes! It’s just amazing ! I’m very sure that there’d be many people willing to sponsor you if you play it just right .”

I narrowed my eyes. Of all the things that Effie would say, I never thought that she’d say this. Whilst most wouldn’t notice the last part of her statement, I certainly did and the way she said it, stressing the word and the glimmer in her eyes - if I didn’t know better, I’d say that Effie is not as much as a Capitolite fanatic that she seems to be. Haymitch gives Effie a sharp look and that glimmer in her eyes was gone in an instant. What in the name of my father is going on , I wondered.

“Come on,” Haymitch says as he roughly places his hand on my shoulder. “I have a few friends to greet. You might as well just come with me.”

I scowled, shrugging off his hand. “No thanks. I prefer to stay alone.”

Haymitch leans in, “You’re gonna die if you don’t sweetheart. Stick to the others and maybe you’d last for a while longer.” Haymitch pauses. “Trust me when I say that allies are the most useful thing in the Games. Trust me .”

I schooled my face, “I get that you’re used to being a mentor-” or lazing around being a drunkard whilst children are being killed , “-but I don’t need your advice. Having allies either means a bigger target for the Careers,” I looked at the Victor-Tributes from One, Two and Four. “Or opening yourself up to being stabbed in the back.”

Haymitch studies me closely. “Have it your way, then Sweetheart.” Haymitch looks at Effie who stared at the two of us with an almost-contemplative look on her face. “Trinket, mind escorting Sweetness to our suites? Capitol forbid that she gets lost.”

“I can take care of myself,” I told him.

Haymitch waves his hand and stalks over to Eleven’s carriage, where I presumed his friends were waiting for him, and consequently leaving me to the mercy of one, Effie Trinket. I noted with relief that Cinna and Portia were still there. Hopefully, they can somewhat tame Effie’s eccentricity.

“Oh, come!” Effie says in a grating, high-pitched voice as she pulls on my arm, dragging me away. “You must simply come now! There’s so much to show you!”

I wondered then and there whether it’s possible to simply end my life there. Maybe that way, it’ll spare me some grief. Then I thought of Prim and my mother, both of whom were waiting for me, both hoping that I would survive and win the Games. I’m not going to take their hope away so cruelly and so soon. I set my face and allowed Effie to drag me along with Cinna and Portia to follow us. At least this couldn’t get any worse.

Chapter Text

Hi! So, I've been working on making a multi-story server with a friend of mine and although it is not that well-developed yet, I decided that I might as well post this!

A Server of Stories

This invite will take you to the server. Beware however, as this is not the only story in the server.

Chapter Text

SPECIAL CHAPTER 1

Peeta forces himself to calm down as the cylinder pushes upwards for a good fifteen seconds, squinting his eyes as his head breaks through the ground, erratically scanning the arena. It was quiet at first, then he heard the loud, booming voice of Claudius Templesmith, “Ladies and Gentlemen, let the Seventy-Fourth Hunger Games begin!”

With his heart beating erratically, Peeta searched for Amelia and the two locked eyes. Peeta covertly gestured at the strip of trees that was between the two of them, signaling where they would meet at night. Amelia nods and the two lean forwards, hands outstretched to grab the things nearest to them and run away as soon as possible.

He could hear Haymitch’s voice in his head, telling him to grab as much supplies as possible before running away. Flashing memories of Amelia and himself carefully making secret hand signs, going through a bunch of plans that’ll probably won’t be used in the end.

The gong rings and for a second, he stayed rooted to his spot for a few precious seconds. The fog on his mind clears and he makes a mad dash for a bright backpack that was placed next to him and slings it over his shoulders. He grabs a heavy black duffel bag, another backpack, a conveniently placed machete before quickly running for the treeline.

Peeta attempts to grab a bottle that was clearly filled with water on his way, but the boy from Nine ran for it as well. Peeta raised his machete with almost shaking hands and struck him at the temple with the hilt of the blade. The boy crumbles, still alive and Peeta grabs the bottle of water for himself, ignoring the booming cannon that follows him as he runs. 

Peeta forced his legs to move faster, crashing into the forest and barrelling through it, going in as deep as possible without losing sight of the Cornucopia, something that Peeta would be using to make way to his and Amelia’s meeting point. Half an hour after the cannons stopped sounding, Peeta decided to stop, throwing his packs and the duffel bag on the ground and rifling through it. The duffel bag contained the basic things he’d need: rope, a bag of crackers, several packets of dried meats and fruits, a large sleeping bag and a spare shirt although Peeta was disappointed to find that it would only fit Amelia.

He checked the packs, which carried soothing cream, bandages, a thick jacket, a box of matches, a lighter, two plastic sheets, a loaf of bread, a small knife, wire, a bottle of water and most importantly, a large box that contained ‘energy bars’, something that Peeta knew was very useful. 

Peeta quickly threw the soothing cream and the bandages from his packs, carefully wrapping it in plastic and cramming it into the bottom of his largest pack before piling his water bottle, knife and energy bars on top and securing his sleeping bag and empty water bottle to it. Inside his duffel bag, he placed his dried foods and crackers, matches, spare clothes, jacket, wire, knife, rope and spare plastic sheet. He eventually decided to stuff the lighter, two energy bars and a packet of dried meat into his pockets, in case he forgot his supplies.

After some consideration, Peeta decides to fold his spare pack and stuff it into his duffel bag before making his way forwards. Peeta winced with every step he took, his feet making a loud crunching sound that resonated all over the forest. He immediately thinks of Katniss Everdeen, the girl who hunted and caught food for at least half of the District and wonders if her steps would be as silent as a rabbit or as loud as his. Probably the former, Peeta thinks with a twitch of his lips. He remembers a time when they were thirteen, Katniss loudly complaining to Gale about how loud the latter was. It was one of the few, but precious, times Peeta knew anything about her.

Peeta glances over his shoulder and hastens his pace. If he’s going to be loud, he might as well be fast.

__________

“Peeta!” Amelia gasps, softly, to not alert their position. “You’re alright!”

“I could say the same to you,” Peeta says lightly, punching her clothed arm. Amelia looked a little worse for wear, but that’s to be expected, considering the situation that they were in. His District partner hugs him tightly, although her eyes shone with worry.

“I made camp not far away,” Amelia says, as they trekked through the forests. “It’s in a group of willows and trees, so we should be well hidden as long as we don’t make a fire in the middle of the night.”

Peeta nods. “What’ve you got in your pack?”

Amelia grins. “I’ve got plenty of things, actually. I scored some knives and a bunch of spark rocks and two changes of clothes, of them should fit you. I have a net so we can use it to go fishing, but I doubt we can spend too much time at that big lake. The Careers probably claimed that place. What about you? Did you see anything?”

It was their main plan, get as much as they possibly could without slowing them down and running to a meeting spot that would be chosen by Peeta. Amelia would make camp whilst Peeta scout the area near the meeting spot.

Peeta shakes his head, “No. There’s nothing that we should concern ourselves about. The Careers are headed away from our meeting spot, so we should be safe.”

“Good,” Amelia answers.

__________

Peeta and Amelia divided the loaf of bread that Peeta got into fourths, eating half of it and leaving the other half for tomorrow. Amelia, whose mother made traps and snares, used the wire from her pack to create snares, some large and some small. When Peeta asks her if she knows how to skin animals, she responds by saying that her father is a butcher.

Peeta finishes off the last of his portion of bread, pulling out his smallest packet of dried vegetables. He took a few pieces before folding it closed and stuffing it back into his pack.

“We better change shifts watching each other’s back,” Amelia says quietly to him.

“I’ll take the first watch,” Peeta tells her.

“Don’t kill me,” Amelia murmurs -a joke, Peeta hopes- as she crawls into his sleeping bag.

__________

The night went without preamble, and Amelia caught two rabbits that she skinned and butchered in her snares. Peeta had grilled their meat, slowly under a weak fire, hoping to imitate the meat jerky that they had. They ended up with a poor imitation that was effective enough. Amelia nibbles her meat, as if slowly and carefully eating the meat would give her a more plentiful amount of meat. It didn’t, she knew.

“Eat faster,” Peeta says to her as he takes a few small sips of water.

“You shouldn’t have grilled the meat fully,” Amelia said as she took three large bits before wrapping what was leftover in a plastic sheet. “If it wasn’t completely cooked, it would’ve left some moisture that’ll be vital to rationing water.

Peeta winced. “Sorry?” he offers. “We’d better leave to go find water. Two bottles is not going to last forever.”

Amelia acknowledged his apology and they packed up.

__________

Amelia takes a large gulp of water from her bottle, finishing the entire thing before refilling it. Peeta hands her the iodine from her pack and she carefully adds the appropriate amount of the solvent to the water.

“Where do you think we should go next?” Amelia wonders out loud.

Peeta shrugs and stuffs his water bottle back into his pack. “I don’t know. Ignore the career, I suppose.”

Amelia frowned, “That’s not a destination.”

“We’ll set camp then,” Peeta decides. “We can discuss more tomorrow, but for now, we should just eat the rabbits that you caught. I’ll set up the net, see if I can get any fish for us.”

Amelia nods, and gets up to gather firewood to build a fire, all whilst keeping a close eye on Peeta. If there’s something that her older brother’s death taught her those fateful five years ago, is that she can never trust anyone in the Games, not even herself.

__________

“Amelia!” Peeta screams at the top of his lungs. His lungs felt like it was going to collapse with every breath he took, his eyes burning from the smoke. Another tree fell in front of him and Peeta took off into the opposite direction, away from the fire.

“Amelia! Amelia, where are you?” Peeta shouts over the crackling of fire. He yelped and jumped aside as a flaming branch crashed to where he was standing mere seconds ago. The leg of his pants caught fire then, and Peeta hissed again at the burning sensation, acting moments too late. He patted out the fire, but it left his pants almost completely charred and his leg pink and sensitive to the touch.

Peeta ran again, this time as fast as he could without stopping for a second, towards the lake where he hoped that Amelia would head to. Peeta trips over a jutting piece of rock, internally cursing as he falls down and scrambles back to his feet.

Peeta jumps over a crackling log, and ducks away from falling branches and twigs. He raised the hem of his jacket so it covered his nose and mouth as he made his way through, the faintest hint of sunlight making its way through the burning gray smoke. He withdrew his knife and charged forwards and through what’s left of the dense, burning forest, emerging from the treelines to a clear sky, the smoke trapped within the forest grounds.

Peeta lets himself relax for the smallest second, then he hears the Careers, their raspy, yet loud, voices shouting from somewhere not too far away. Like a certified idiot, he freezes up, losing his meager chance of running away as they reach the lake and spot him.

The girl from Two, Clove, he thinks, shouts out. “Hey, isn’t that the Lover Boy ?”

Peeta feels his body start to move and he draws out his machete, almost clumsily holding it in front of him as the Careers start to approach him.

“You know, Clove,” District Two’s Career said, his voice but a purr as move forward, a sword present within his hands. “I think it is , our little Lover Boy. Hey, Bread Boy! Have you fallen in love with anyone yet?”

Peeta felt that anger that he got when his mother mocked him for being in love with one, Katniss Everdeen. “Take Katniss out of this conversation, Two!” he shouts.

It was a mistake. The blonde girl from One shoots an arrow that Peeta was barely able to dodge, and the girl from Four attacks him with twin daggers. Peeta struggled to keep up as the other Careers laughed and mocked him. Then, using his strength as an advantage, just when the girl from Four was a good distance away from him, he rammed the girl down.

The Careers stopped laughing, their face twisting with angry scowls. The boy from Two, Cato , he remembers now, makes a gesture and his accomplices stand down. He attacked with his sword extended, Peeta blocked with his machete and the blades locked.

“You’re the Twelve girl’s partner aren’t you?” Cato hissed. Peeta’s arms spasm at that, and Cato used his advantage to knock Peeta’s machete away and kick him in the chest. Peeta’s sternum burned with pain and he struggled to breathe, falling to the ground as he lost his balance.

“I thought it’s obvious,” Peeta bites out.

Cato’s smile turned wicked and he kneels down, sword placed against his leg. “You know, I heard your little partner, I heard her scream and beg for help as the fire burned her to death.”

Peeta says nothing, but his heart sinks, hope slowly fading away.

Cato stands up, “You know what, Twelve? I’m feeling a bit merciful today. So I won’t kill you.”

Peeta looks at him in confusion, Haymitch’s words about mind games and games flooding his mind. He quickly understood what that meant when Cato let out an angry roar, his sword cutting through the air and slicing through his upper leg. Pain didn’t register Peeta’s mind until the blade sliced through the air again and cut through his leg again and for the final time. Spots danced in his vision and he heard a voice say: “Now, let’s go kill that Twelve girl, shall we?”

Peeta could feel that lost hope coming back, a spark that lit a burning flame. He waits for the Careers to leave before weakly pulls himself up to look at his leg, a mutilated thing that was pouring blood. Peeta reaches into his pack, and pulls out his bandages, his fingers weak and unsteady as he wraps his leg, the final result being messy, crisscrossing white cottons over his leg.

Peeta who had yet to move, rests his head on the dirt and allows sleep to claim him.

Chapter Text

Filler Chapter 1: Finnick’s POV

As I watched as District 12’s Reapings started, I wondered who would be reaped for the female Tribute. Whether the Tribute would be a resigned girl who had lost all hope or a strong-willed girl who would stubbornly hold on even as she was thrown into a pit of wolves to be eaten alive. Maybe it will be a little girl who's scared out of her mind, or maybe an older girl, one who can be part of our little rebellion. I abandoned that thought immediately, just around the same time District 12's escort drew out a name.

“Primrose Everdeen!”

“No!” Annie, who was watching with me and Mags, shouted out when she saw who exactly was reaped. I leaped out of my seat, almost snarling in anger when a little girl slowly stepped forwards. The girl was tiny and thin, and looked incredibly malnourished. She seemed to be nine years old at the most, and was quivering with fear.

“Shit!” I shouted out in anger. That little girl didn’t deserve to be reaped.

Annie stared transfixed at the screen, her breath coming in short pants. Mags reached over to comfort her at the same time I got back on my seat. I pulled Annie into a hug, rubbing comforting circles on her back. Annie hugged me back, pulling Mags into our little hug-fest. Although Annie received a lot of help and no longer needed her medications, she was still easily emotional.

I mentally cursed Haymitch. It was irrational to do so, since this rebellion plan of ours belonged to President Coin and Plutarch Heavensbee, yet Haymitch was the one who gathered us. I turned my focus back to the screen. Aside from Annie’s sobs, however, the room was entirely silent. District 12 stayed silent as the little girl walked slowly, the crowd of girls parting ways for her. 

Suddenly, there was a commotion in the crowds, someone making their way through the crowds of girls that were supposed to be reaped. A voice shouts out, “Prim!” A girl, one with dark hair, olive skin and gray eyes broke through the swarm of people. A blazing fury danced within her eyes, ready to burn every single thing down. At the same time however, there were also the eyes of a crushed spirit, one that had given up. I immediately filed the girl away in my mind, to think about later on. “Prim!”

She was at the center of the aisle towards the stage now, only a few meters away from the little girl, Primrose. I wondered how close they were, for the dark-haired girl to do such a thing. Maybe they’re sisters , I thought. Then I took a good look at them. Although, it’s more likely that they’re cousins .

“Katniss!” Primrose shouted. Annie gasped, mostly in fright, tears pricking her eyes, and falling down slowly.

The Peacekeepers grabbed the dark haired girl’s arms, holding her back from running back further. Annie’s grip on me tightened as the Peacekeepers started to drag her back. Then the dark haired girl - Katniss , I reminded myself- shouts out something I thought I’d never hear from anyone from District 12.

“I volunteer! I volunteer as a Tribute!”

Shock fell over the entire train car. I watched as the girl walked forwards with clenched fists and an impassive face, impressing me with her control over her emotions. As she introduced herself as Katniss Everdeen, I thought: I was right after all . They are sisters.

“They’re sisters,” Annie said then.

Then something miraculous happens. When Effie Trinket -I reminded myself to tell Effie to drop the Capitol-obsessed Escort later on- pressed the citizens of District 12 to give their new Tribute a round of applause (a formality, really), they replied by staying quiet, defiance shining in their eyes, their jaws locked tight and refusing to do as asked. I watched Katniss Everdeen straighten out her slumped shoulders, almost puffing out her chest in pride.

A hand with three middle fingers lifted into the air, then followed by another and another and suddenly, it was like District 12 was saluting Katniss Everdeen for what she did. It was like nothing else in the world, that feeling of rebellion and anger that managed to be projected through even electricity and a flat screen.

Annie wiped her tears away. “Finnick, it’s beautiful.”

I never thought that such a feat would happen. A volunteer, from District 12. A District saluting a Tribute for volunteering for her sister. I focused on Katniss Everdeen’s reactions, her face carefully blank and emotionless. An impressive fear for one that was presumably not trained, for one so emotional just a few moments back and is supposed to still be emotional now.

I leaned back into my seat. It seems like a few plans would have to be scrapped with Katniss Everdeen in the Games.

__________

As soon as we got to the Capitol, I was herded to the Remake Center, where I passed by Haymitch for a short while.

“Hold on for a second, I have to talk to a friend for a bit,” I said to Aquafina, District 4’s escort. She looked constipated but left me there to guide Annie to her prep team.

“Nice partner you got there, Abernathy,” I said. I was slipping into the Capitol persona, the one with a husky voice that brought me into their beds and gave the rebellion invaluable secrets for them to use. “Do you mind sharing her with me?”

Haymitch glares at me, “Watch your mouth, peacock boy. Besides, if you try that little stunt of yours next to the girl, chances are that she will dismember you. She almost took off my fingers.” Haymitch wriggled his fingers.

There’s no way that can be true. I sniffed in a faux-snobbish way. “Watch me.”

As I walked away with Haymitch chuckling at me, I had the feeling that I had just dug my own grave.

__________

I looked at Annie from head to toes with a raised eyebrow. My sister was dressed in a costume similar to mine, made out of navy blue fishnets, except it concealed much more of her body, with the addition of flowing blue silks.

Instead of the short kilt skirt that didn’t hide much and that detestable fishnet that merely went over one of my shoulders like a sash before being wrapped around my hips and being tied off at my crotch, Annie wore a flowing, sleeveless gown that stopped mid-thigh. It was fitted, and had lots of cutoffs that were covered in sheer blue tulle. Then, a fishnet was thrown over her shoulders similarly to a sash and fell all the way down. The right side of the fishnet was pulled all the way up to be pinned at her hips, whilst the front and back was pulled halfway up to be pinned in the middle.

“You look very terrible,” Annie informs me. Ah. That’s the Annie that was always there before seeing her District partner getting beheaded. Annie, although soft and far more caring than anyone I’ve ever met, she also held a bite of sarcasm that was only there when she was with someone she loved.

I laughed, looking at Annie. “And you look like you’re some prostitute who got tangled in nets.”

Annie sniffed in distaste, either disgusted by my description or the fact that my description was completely correct, I wasn’t sure as before she could tell me anything, Katniss Everdeen walked right into the Parade Center.

I shushed Annie, pointing at the female District 12 Tribute. “Stay here, I’m going to test something for a bit.”

Snatching several sugar cubes, I walked over to Katniss, who was carefully feeding the horses, stroking their manes. Her body was stiff, yet controlled as she did so, radiating an air of awkward silence, as if she was trying to warn the other Victors off.

Getting closer to her, I said, “Hello, Katniss Everdeen,” I said whilst popping a sugar cube in my mouth. Katniss turned quickly, clearly startled by my appearance. I could see her forcing herself to relax. “Want some sugar?” I continued, pretending not to notice it.

She looks at me blankly and crosses her arms. “No thanks. I’d love to borrow your outfit sometimes, though. If I get out alive.”

Ouch . Well that certainly hit a soft spot, I mused. I grinned instead. “Thanks. I’d like to believe there’s some hope for living.” I scanned her carefully, instead of just looking at her like I did before. Unlike the District 12 Tributes from last year, Katniss had on dramatic, more-Capitol-esque makeup with a far-fancier outfit of a black jumpsuit with a long open skirt. It suited her in a way I doubted the light, barely-there makeup from last year would. “You’re absolutely terrifying in that get-up, by the way. I thought your stylist would be putting you in some pretty-girl dress. I mean, it fits the Jacob girl, but it’s so not you.”

Katniss was startled, then said to me, “Then what’s me?”

I thought about the fire in her eyes, a fire of rebellion as she volunteered for her sister. Then I thought of Haymitch’s comment of her almost taking his fingers off. I looked at her, actually looked at her and noticed that her arms are well muscled, the way it would be from throwing things around, the way it would be from firing arrows. I realized then just how dangerous Katniss Everdeen is.

“Someone who’s hiding something, someone who prefers to strike from the shadows,” I brushed one of her black metal armbands, a beautiful creation that was etched with tiny patterns of mockingjays in flight. Cinna is a true genius. Then, aloofly, pretending to ignore her shocked expression, I continued, “It’s a shame we’d eventually have to kill each other. I think quite a few of the other Victors will like you.” Oh, they’ll like her alright. If she comes from One, Two or Four, Cashmere and Enobaria would just adore her.

“Is that how you flirt with everybody ?” Katniss questioned me, shifting uncomfortably by my action. Ouch.

So I did what I did best with my Capitol persona. “Oh, just you wait, Katniss Everdeen, you haven’t seen just about anything yet.” I leaned in closely, mostly to tease her, but also to stare right into her eyes. Katniss backs up a little, then suddenly, she pulls my arm and despite me being trained to fight for so many years, despite me being a Victor, she twists me to face my back then kicks me forwards.

“Sugar rots your teeth,” was what she told me as I got up.

I left for the District 4 chariot. Annie grinned at me, and I smiled gently. “I knew you weren’t going to have fun,” she said.

I shook my head, “Well then, you should’ve warned me first.”

“But you didn’t let me,” Annie replies.

I helped her up the chariot, “Are you ready?”

Annie frowned at her fishnet sash-skirt, “We should find a better stylist.” 

The doors had opened and whilst the District 1 chariot rode out, I took her reply as a yes.

Chapter Text

CHAPTER 6

As we were walking to the elevators, a trio of three joined us. I immediately recognized Johanna Mason, Annie Cresta Odair and Finnick Odair. I tampered the urge to scowl as I remembered my recent encounter with the District 4 Victor, and Tribute.

“Nice dress,” Johanna says as she ripped off her tree-themed headdress. The District Seven Victor threw it right into Finnick’s face, who caught the article of clothing as it fell and wordlessly handed it to Cinna.

If I was to say who scared me the most, it wouldn’t be Finnick, who had killed multiple tributes at the age of fourteen, but Johanna who was quite literally a wolf in sheepskin - at least, that’s how the saying goes. I remembered sending Finnick sprawling to the ground. If I played things correctly, I could convince people it was a mere fluke, a one time thing, but if Johanna catches me in my game of playing the defenseless little girl from Twelve… if she catches me at my game, then it was never my game to begin with.

I stared at the trio impassively, refusing to answer them. Finnick snuck a glance at the now lit-up jumpsuit and nodded almost appreciatively. “I, for one, certainly didn’t expect it to be so… flashy.”

I stayed silent as Johanna rambled on.

“My stylist is an absolute idiot.” She wrestles with her bracelets, taking them off and throwing them away. “District Seven, lumber, trees . Ugh. So unoriginal.” Then to me she remarked: “Wish I’d gotten Cinna. You look absolutely amazing by the way.”

Ugh. Girl talk. Even after being friends with Madge for the last year, I was still terrible at it. To be fair, we usually spent our time talking about reapings, my trips in the forests, financial problems and so on. Not girly things like dresses and latest fashion and all that shebang.

“Thanks,” I told her, not knowing what else to say.

“Johanna’s a big fan of good-looking clothes.” Finnick says this with a conservational voice, as if he’s telling me some kind of big secret.

Annie giggles. “Finnick’s lying,” she laughs with a soft, sing-song voice. “Jo hates good clothes. She likes fighting clothes.” The red-head hummed an odd, off-pitch tune, which caused me to wonder whether or not she actually is sane. Then she added, “And axes. Jo likes axes.”

Johanna rolled her eyes and had Cinna unzip her dress, practically shredding the green and brown tree-dress as she took it off and kicked out of her line of sight. Aside from her forest green heels, she was completely naked. “Thanks a lot, An. I just love the fact that you made me sound like a murderous axe lady.”

We ended up on the same elevator as the trio, the ride as slow as a snail since the elevator was set at a slow but smooth pace. Johanna spent the entire ride flirting and chatting with me whilst dropping the mildest possible threat of bodily harm and killing. I gave one worded response as Finnick switched between charming the pants off Effie and egging me on about our little, pre-Parade conversation. In the meantime, Annie hummed and giggled, speaking in her odd voice with Cinna and Portia, both who replied with a politeness that I was unfamiliar with.

Finnick and Annie left first with a wink and a wave and Johanna followed them three floors later with a suggestive flick of her hair.

As soon as we got on the twelfth floor, the floor of our suites, Cinna and Portia burst out laughing.

“What is it?” I demanded.

Cinna shook his head. “It’s nothing Katniss. Nothing whatsoever.”

Dubiously, I believed him although I was still fuming about what happened. As I wondered why those Victors decided to pester me despite me being a newbie, I remembered Haymitch’s words back on the train. I was sure that District 4 and District 7 were part of Haymitch’s list of allies.

“Well,” Effie says in a high-pitched voice, making me want to just attack her with the butter knife that was conveniently placed on the coffee table. “Katniss, dear, why don’t you head over to the dining room. Cinna? Show her the way there. Portia and I will wait for Haymitch.” She turns to me. “I’ll send him over.”

Cinna gently led me to a huge room with tables with a glass top and fancy white chairs that had cones for legs, making me question how safe the seat actually was. I unsuredly pushed the chair forward, only to find the chair rocking back towards me.

“Electromagnetic core,” Cinna says as if it explained anything. “That and the fact that the floors have a copper lining beneath the bronze-iron marble floors. Sit down. I’ll have the Avoxes get things ready. In the meantime-” Cinna presses his palm on the glass table and twists it, causing a holographic image to come up. He pressed a few commands, then the screen in front of the dining table came to life, and I immediately recognized it as the Reaping that seemed to have happened so long ago.

“I’ve already watched that,” I protested.

“Well then,” Cinna says, “You can always watch it again. And be sure to take notes on who you want as allies.”

I glared at him. “I don’t needallies.”

Cinna pats my shoulder and leaves me alone to watch the Reaping again. I tried to follow Cinna’s advice, cataloging who I’d consider as allies, even if it’s just a fleeting thought. The pair from Three, Cecelia from Eight and maybe Annie Odair from Four. I was hesitant with the last part, however, as I knew how attached Finnick Odair is to the redhead, and judging by their short interaction on the elevator, it’s very unlikely that he’ll let Annie ally herself with me without him to watch over her.

Effie soon enters the room, followed by Haymitch. Both of them look far too pleased for my liking.

“Good news,” Haymitch says, as we all sit around the dining table. Portia passed me several slices of raw orange fish which she called ‘salmon’. The fish was cold and chewy, but tasted delicious once dipped into the sauce. “Eleven and Four liked your spunk and decided to accept you into their alliance.”

“No thanks,” I simply replied.

“It’s either you accept or get yourself killed,” Haymitch said, “And I prefer that my partner doesn’t get killed.”

I crossed my arms. “Since when did you care about your partner getting killed?”

Haymitch scruffs his blond beard, “Since forever, sweetheart.”

“You mean since your life depended on it,” I retorted. Despite this, however, I saw the charm behind it all. I can’t exactly blame him for something that I myself would do, after all. If it means surviving and going back to Prim, fulfilling what I knew to be her greatest wish and probably the only thing she’d want right now, I’d be willing to do anything, even turning against allis and friends.

Haymitch shrugs, “Yes. Since my life depends on it.”

“Is there anything else you can do other than trying to get me to be part of an alliance?” I asked.

Haymitch takes a large swig of his drink, a sugary drink that Portia had called ‘coke’. I turned to Cinna. “Well?”

“Being part of alliances is very important in the Games, Katniss,” Cinna implied gently. Then he added, “But that’s not too much of a matter right now. What matters is talking strategy.”

“I don’t want to talk about strategy.”

Haymitch leans in and his voice turns dark, “Sweetheart, I’m letting you not join our alliance, but if you’re going to be stubborn and not accept my help, you might as well end up like your precious bread boy.”

My mind flashed with images of Peeta Mellark’s death, a slashed leg, a slow death of blood poisoning and starvation. Then I remembered Amelia Jacobs, who’s Reaping protected my sister, if only for a year. Her death had been even more violent. “Fine,” I snapped. Then I quickly added, “And Peeta is not precious to me in any way, whatsoever and he is not my bread boy.”

Haymitch stared right into my eyes and looked like he wanted to say something as a retort against me but instead, he gestures at Effie who hops off her chair and leaned over to press a button on the table that turned on the television. The screen lights up and Effie reset the Reaping video from the very beginning.

“District One,” Effie started off, snapping both me and Haymitch out of our staring contest. pointing at the two tributes on screen. “Gloss and Cashmere Dubois. They won the Sixty-Third and Sixty-Fourth Hunger Games- consecutive, back-to-back wins, of course. They’ll be one of your main opponents.”

“The other would be District Two, right?” I asked reluctantly.

Cinna nods in answer to my question, “Those two would gain a lot of support, but their weakness is each other. If it comes down to it, they wouldn’t kill each other.”

This quickly confirmed my earlier suspicions. I pitied them. If I am thrown into the Games with Prim, I know I wouldn’t kill her, I would kill myself to give her that living chance. A spike of anger rose up within me, and a patted down the urge to glare at the screen.

“Next,” Haymitch calls out. The screen changes to show the Tributes from Two.

“Cato Hadley and Enobaria Golding,” Portia says, freezing the video at the part where Cato and Brutus wrestled each other to get the spot as Tribute whilst Enobaria looked at them with curled lips, showing off her sharp fangs. “Your other main competitors don't have an actual weakness. Unlike Gloss and Cashmere, Cato and Enobaria are not afraid to kill each other.”

Cinna must’ve seen me staring at Enobaria’s fangs as he explained, “She had it filed down after ripping the throat of one of the Tributes in her Games. Totally out-of-fashion these days, but the style used to be very popular in her times.”

“They have Brutus Gunn and Augusta Stone as their mentors,” said Effie, “Which is quite a terrible thing. Brutus is extremely strong, and would no doubt, pass that on to Cato. As for Augusta, she is a master with any bladed weapons- knives, swords, axes… you name it.”

“So you’re telling me to avoid Two.”

“Yes,” Cinna tells me sympathetically. “They’ll probably go after you however, with you being the newest one here and the weakest one.”

“What about the District Eight male?” I asked, vaguely remembering an old man. “Shouldn’t he be the most vulnerable?”

“You’re the better prize,” Haymitch said.

I blanched. “Prize.” I said it stiffly, not a question but not a statement either, leaving it open for interpretation.

“Yes, Sweetheart,” Haymitch drawled. “Prize. You’re a newbie, fresh meat. To them, you’re like sheep to a pack of hungry wolves.”

Before an awkward silence could descend on the room, Effie switched things again. “Beetee Frank and Wiress Seina. Not very deadly compared to the others, but extremely smart. You’d want them as allies to survive in an arena.”

No one added any details, so I assumed that those two are not as dangerous as the others are.

“District Four,” Effie continued on.

“Finnick and Annie Odair,” I said, recognizing the two of them. “I’ve met them already.”

“Perfect,” Haymitch says. “Finny Boy is a peacock. Won at the young age of fourteen and then he got himself involved with the Capitol at sixteen in order for Annie to get the best care possible for her PTSD.”

I knew what Haymitch was implying. Prostitution.

“As for the girl,” Haymitch continued, when it was clear I understood what he meant, “Her life’s just as sad. Got reaped because of her younger brother winning the year before. Her partner was decapitated in front of her during her Games and won when her arena flooded by being the best swimmer. She’s fully recovered now, thanks to Peacock Boy.”

“It doesn’t seem like it,” I said.

“She has a few emotional outbursts,” Haymitch admits, “And she’s very sensitive, but really, do you actually recover from such an experience?”

No. I suppose not. I know my mother still has some of her depressive episodes despite the fact my father’s death happened over five years ago. I know I’m still afraid to go into the mines despite it happening so long ago and Prim can’t stand being near the entrance of the mines.

Haymitch switched over the District Five, and quickly took them off the list as anyone to fear, although I wheedled answers and replies out of him with a large amount of pressing and convincing. At least, I hoped that it was me. I was never a people person.

When we got to Johanna Mason, Cinna quickly pointed out her skills with the axe. “Beheaded her last Tribute with a move that became her signature move.”

“So she’s dangerous?” I frowned in response.

Haymitch merely gave me a look and asked Effie to fast forward the Reapings to District 8. Effie, with the additional comments of Cinna, Portia and Haymitch continued to tell me about the other Tributes aside from what little I know from watching the Games.

“Best way to avoid getting killed is to avoid District One and Two,” Cinna agreed, the moment that the Reaping video was finished. “Those two will be the ones you have to fear the most.”

“What about District Four?” I asked. “Finnick is a victor at fourteen, right? And he’s a Career. Shouldn’t he be the one that we fear?”

“Well, technically, yes ,” Haymitch confirms, “But I happen to be his ally and until we get to the Final Ten, we’re going to stay allies.”

“Fantastic,” I muttered. In my head, I silently added: A fantastic opportunity for our allies to stab us in the back . 

“Are you sure that he is totally safe and will not betray us at the first chance he gets?”

Haymitch looked considerate, as if he hadn’t considered that at all, then he says: “He’ll probably betray us at the fourth, fifth, sixth chance he gets, but I’m counting on that.”

I slouched into my seat. “Great.”

Effie glances forward, scrutinizing me, “Sit straight, dearie.”

I slouched even further.

Cinna took pity on me, “The most important thing on the Arena, however, is not to stay away from District One and Two, but to find shelter. As soon as the bell rings, head to the things closest to you, and head out. If it’s too far away, just run away.”

I didn’t like the plan. It left me open. Open and vulnerable. I had a vague memory of one of Gale and I’s hunting trips, then we decided to not hunt at all and just go fishing and pick some berries. I remembered how the lack of weapons had almost caused our death by the claws of a bear. Had it not been for the fact that our next stash of weapons was only a short distance away from the pond from where we were at, we would’ve died. Gale and I made a pact to never be defenseless ever again. The Games would break that pact.

“It’s been used by many of the non-Careers Victors, and has been put into use since the beginning of the Games,” Portia explained. She looked at Haymitch. “Even your own District Partner has put it into use.”

“He’s not my partner,” I said sharply, gaining a look of disapproval and exasperation from Cinna. “But please,” I continued between gritted teeth. “Continue.”

Portia continued to talk about the instances in which the strategy was used, starting from the Twelfth Games, describing in near-perfect detail how it worked. I allowed myself to be relaxed by Portia’s long-winding explanations, until eventually, it was somehow midnight and we were splitting off to get some sleep.

The moment my head hit the pillow, I was immediately asleep, the darkness engulfing me, and with it, a promise of nightmares and screams.

Chapter Text

CHAPTER 7

I woke up tangled in unfamiliarly soft sheets, my mind still flashing with nightmares from the night before.

I covered my eyes, shielding it away from the awfully bright lights, sliding carelessly out of bed. I cleaned my face and stripped off my sweat-soaked clothes. I headed to the bathroom, twisting the large knob in the middle, yelping when scalding hot water rained down. I quickly turned off the shower, then looked at the knobs carefully.

I experimentally twisted the red knob next to it clockwise, then the blue knob anti-clockwise before turning the knob. Freezing cold water poured out instead, but I didn’t mind. I jumped into the water, wiping off the makeup that remained from yesterday and the sweat from my nightmares.

I wiped myself with a thick, fluffy towel, drying my hair with a machine that was attached to the wall before tightly weaving my hair into the braid that my mother had done for me during the Reaping. I froze. I quickly undid my hair and rebraided it into a braid that I wore for hunting, the one that was more practical considering what I would be doing today.

I went for breakfast as quickly as possible, eager to get it done with as soon as possible; preferably without having to talk to Haymitch or Effie. I didn’t mind Cinna or Portia, as they were nice and kind- far more so than I expected of a Capitolite, but Haymitch and Effie… I don’t like them.

Unfortunately for me, as I was halfway through eating my breakfast, Haymitch came down. Not stumbling the way he had done last year during the Reapings in which Amelia Jacobs and Peeta Mellark were reaped, but rather steady and sure footed- he held the air of a trained killer.

“Sweetheart,” Haymitch said gruffly. He reached for the jam and spread it over a slice of bread that smells as fresh as the bread that Mr. Mellark sold back at District 12. Such a thing was a rarity.

I ignored him and bit into my own breakfast- two slices of bread with soft, melted cheese and bacon. It was a far more luxurious copy of the hard bread, goat cheese and thickly sliced cured mystery meat we had back at home. Usually, the mystery meat was wild deer or another one of the four-legged animals I hunted with Gale.

“Katniss,” Cinna greeted, pulling out a seat for himself. He piled his plate with rolls and slathered them with creams and powder, offering me one of them. Wiping the grease of my hands with the tablecloth, I accepted the offering and bit into the warm roll which melted inside my mouth.

“Effie and Portia are planning our schedule for the ball,” explained Cinna, sitting down. “So they won’t be here today. Instead, I’m taking Effie’s technical place as your mentor.”

I nodded. “What do we do today then?”

“The plan’s simple,” said Cinna. “In the morning, you’d stay at the Training Centre. Haymitch will familiarise himself with his allies and…” A look was given to Haymitch, “ Friends , whilst-”

“ Familiarise ,” Haymitch spitted out. “Is that all I have to do?”

I wanted to punch him.

“-Katniss will go through as many stations as possible. Undetected .”

“I can do that,” I promised, sliding out of my seat.

“Good.”

__________

A chill creeped down on me as soon as we got to the Training Centre. Any advice that Cinna had given to me from before was immediately made useless as eyes trailed me the way a predator would their prey. I forced myself to keep a straight face, but the fear that was surely held within my eyes made it clear that I was scared.

“Good luck,” Haymitch said to me before walking away.

To my right, the Victor-Tributes from District Two practised with swords, each clang of blade against blade producing flying sparks of orange and red. They stopped sparring, as if they had internal signals that alerted them the moment I placed my eyes upon them.

Enobaria snarled, baring sharp, pointed teeth at me and Cato cocked his head, considering me then smiling sharply the way I imagined a predator would to its prey.

I quickly walked away, gazing to my left to see the sibling-duo from District Two. The boy, Gloss, threw his knife with an accuracy I wouldn’t be able to manage, whilst the girl, Cashmere, hacked away at a dummy with a long-bladed knife in hand, both straight and jagged slashes appearing on the dummy. A vivid image of a knife thudding into my forehead and blood pouring from my chest flashed in my mind.

Johanna Mason, from District 7 was swinging an axe, with grunts and shouts to match up with it. Annie and Finnick watched on close by, weaving a net from cords and wires. The three of them seemed to have a sixth sense of some kind as, as I moved past them, they stopped what they were doing in a perfect unison, their eyes trailing me.

I moved on and made a beeline to the snaring station, where the trainer seemed relieved, and excited, to have me. I got the feeling that he was being covertly and silently threatened by the Career Victor-Tributes, who kept to themselves and used their weapons with a deadly skill. When the trainer realised that I knew how to make snares, he eagerly taught me how to make more complicated knots and traps.

I fumbled a snare that the trainer taught me, again messing up with the knot. The trainer undid it and showed it to me again. It was a snare which consisted of a stake and rope, the stake flying into the air the moment the trap was activated. I did as he told me to do, and again fumbled with the last knot, slipping it under and looping it around instead of over and tying it off. I threw the snare on the table. Somebody snickered, and I had the sense that it was the pair from District One, who now that I looked at it, were gazing at me with quiet contempt.

“Forget it,” I said, moving over to the next station, a fire-starting station that was manned by a blue-skinned trainer who mostly sat at the back to watch the two Victor-Tributes from District 3 try and light a fire.

I snatched twigs and a bunch of dry leaves, with a short stick and a dry slab of wood, setting it up as far away from the Tributes from District 3 as possible. I put the stick between my hands, and rubbed it over the slab of wood, applying pressure as I went. It started to smoke, and my twigs and leaves caught flame, bursting into a small plethora of red, orange and yellow warmth.

I could spot the pair from District 3 pointing at me. The male Tribute - Beetee Latier, I think - whispered something to his partner - Wiress Martila. I stiffened up and stamped out the fire with a few quick stomps, and headed for the next station. I could still feel their eyes on me, following me as I stopped at the rope-climbing station, not too far from Haymitch, Chaff and Seeder who were joined together at the shelter-making station.

“How do I climb it?” I asked the trainer, making sure to flicker my eyes from the criss-crossed ropes to the top metal bars which were secured by cables. It was a climbing, rope wall, and the metal bars were made to be walked on. Despite the fact that it looked easy to climb however, the ropes looked flimsy at best, and I wasn’t sure if there would be traps.

“Get the ropes first,” she told me, then she explained what the bars are for: “They’re for balancing. You get on them, then walk over them.”

I nodded and reached for the ropes. The Tributes from Two laughed loudly, hearing my fear. I tamped down the urge to glare at them and steeled myself. I climbed slowly- painfully so, making a show of struggling to heave myself up. I lost my grip once or twice, before pulling myself over the bars. I planted my feet firmly on the metal bars, and slowly stood up, arms at either side of me, trying to keep myself steady. My eyes were fixed on the other bars in front of me, staring right into them. I jumped and landed deftly on the bars, tilting forwards then back before steadying myself.

“ Pathetic ,” I heard a voice say. It was Johanna. I looked down to see her staring at me, as I was getting ready to jump over to another bar. I ignored her, and leaped for the other bar. I leaned too far forwards, and was sent tumbling downwards, my front headed to hit the ground. It was only through the many times that I fell off trees as a child, and the times that Gale pushed me off different manners of higher ground did I have the sense to turn midair, landing roughly on my back.

The impact left me breathless, gasping for air as the oxygen was knocked right out of my lungs. I laid there for a few moments, trying to organise my thoughts. Distantly, I heard someone laugh, mocking and crowing.

I got up to see that it was Haymitch.

__________

“What was up with that?” I muttered angrily as we left the Training Centre.

“You fell, Sweetheart,” Haymitch said simply, as if it explained everything. “You fell, and made a fool out of yourself.”

I glowered in anger and quickened up my pace, partly to get away from him, but mostly to get as far away from the Training Centre as possible. “So? Maybe I want to make a fool out of myself.” It wasn’t part of my plan to do so, I was supposed to seem weak, and unteachable. Punching Finnick is just a one off thing. “Maybe they ’d get off my back.”

“Sweetheart,” Haymitch told me, “You’re painting a target on yourself. You think that making a fool out of yourself will let you survive? No, sponsors will abandon you as quickly as they supported you and guess what? You die.”

“If you’re so convinced that I’ll die,” I replied, hoping that my voice wasn’t too loud. “Then why are you so insistent that I join your alliance?”

“Because you’re useful, Katniss Everdeen,” a gratingly familiar voice called out. Not even a ten yards away from us, Finnich Odair stood, with his sister not too far from him. The blond walked closer, “You’re useful because you’re interesting, and that is what’s going to get you sponsors.”

I cocked my head. “And shouldn’t I use those sponsors for myself? After all, those alleged sponsors are mine , aren’t they?”

Finnick smiled sharply, “Well, that’s up for you to decide isn’t it?” He sauntered away, leaving me and Haymitch alone.

I turned to Haymitch. “Was he telling the truth?”

“Depends on how you look at it, Sweetheart,” Haymitch informed me.

I looked at him. “Tell me again, how you get sponsors.”

Chapter Text

CHAPTER 8

“First step to getting sponsors,” Haymitch said, back at our floor. We were seated at the dining table. Someone had come in to change the tables and chairs since breakfast, as the glass top table and white chairs had been replaced with equally lavish furniture of carefully carved chairs and a dark-polished hardwood table. The knowledge of it made me shift uncomfortably, to think that this kind of change can be done so quietly, without notice. “Is something you already know.”

I stared at him stubbornly. “Tell me.”

“Get the Capitolites to notice you,” Haymitch told me, as he was pouring himself a glass, which I was staring straight at, rather than looking at him. “You already got that done, volunteering for your sister, your fiery entrance and your mysteriousness .”

I looked at him in surprise, frowning at him in question. Haymitch snorted. “That’s the angle Cinna and Effie decided to use for you, a mysterious girl who’s stirring up some storm, a girl who has a trick up her sleeve.”

I stared at him, willing myself not to give anything away. “What about the second?”

“Get them to like you,” Haymitch shrugged, then looked at me over his glass of golden liquor. “Or just get them to root for you.”

“Third?” I asked as I wondered how I’ll get the Capitol to root for me. I looked at my hands, eyes catching the fabric of the navy jacket I wore, lips curving into a smile. The jumpsuit that I wore at the Tribute parade, lit up in yellows, golds, oranges and reds, with smoke trailing from behind came to my mind, the upcoming gala coming right after.

“Oh the third is the hardest,” Haymitch drawled, his Seam accent pouring out. “Playing along to their games.”

I frowned, confused. “What games? Aren’t we already in the Hunger Games? What other games are you talking about?”

“The games of the Capitol, Sweetheart,” he replied with his lips curling into an angry sneer. His eyes flashed with a quiet fury that spoke of rebellion and defiance. “They like their Hunger Games, and their games. The games they like to play with us Tributes and Victors.”

“What games?” I repeated, crossing my arms.

Haymitch glanced at me. “Got any plans for your sponsor problem?”

“None,” I answered. It wasn’t really a lie. I only had ideas, not plans. “Got anything else?”

“‘Fraid that’s it Sweetheart, can’t tell you more unless I want my plans to be used against me,” Haymitch chuckled. Then Haymitch’s eyes sharpened. “Of course, if you and I are allies, I’d happily let it slip a couple more…”

“Will you stop bothering me about this?”

Before Haymitch could answer, the sound of the doors of our suite sliding open resonated over to the dining room. Haymitch quickly got up and exited. I followed him, wondering who it was, and was surprised to see Cinna, Effie and Portia, quietly chatting amongst themselves.

“Effie!” Haymitch called out loudly, plopping himself on the couch. “Had a good time?”

Effie sniffed, “Yes. Good news are, that our schedules are finished.” She stalked over another couch next to Haymitch’s and sat down, making a gesture for Portia, Cinna and I to do the same. “The two of you will be having your fitting tomorrow, Cinna and Portia had already come up with the designs for the gala.”

“The gala will be held in a week,” Cinna continued, breaking the awkward science that had prevailed after Effie was finished. “Katnias, you’ll be going for your fitting in two days.”

“Haymitch will take his fitting the day before,” Portia said. “Since we have some things to go over about the design.”

“What about me?” I asked curiously. It was strange that whilst Haymitch was going to pick his own design for his suit, or at least had some liberty over the design, I would have no control over the design.

Cinna, however, smiled reassuringly. “Trust me, you’d love the design I made.”

I had no doubts about that. Cinna was undoubtedly someone I could really trust. At least, he was the person that I could trust the most in the Capitol. 

“Well enough of the talk about designs, as interesting and undoubtedly amazing as it is,” Effie sighed. Then she faced Haymitch and I. “What are the two of you doing here anyways? Shouldn’t you be at the Training Center?”

It hit me how normal Effie sounded now, and she must’ve noticed it, as she quickly cleared her throat. “Well? What are you waiting for? Get to the Training Center now, up and away!”

“And get harassed by the Careers?” Haymitch snorted. “No thanks, Effie, I’d rather stay here. Besides, Things are not as much as a bitch here.

“Well, then at least Katniss should go,” Effie sniffed. “Katniss deary, please get on with it. I won’t have my tribute be the first to die on my first Quell! At least build up some muscles so you can run!”

I brewed over mine and Haymitch’s conversation about sponsors, and wondered how willing he would be to let slip a few more bits and pieces of information. “Actually,” I said, gaining Effie’s attention. “Haymitch and I were talking about making a pact in the games.”

Haymitch raises an eyebrow, and so did Cinna and Portia.

“Oh?” Cinna questioned. “You weren’t very agreeing about a pact yesterday, much less an alliance. What’s up with the change?”

Haymitch thankfully played along, weaving a story that undoubtedly spun in his favor. “Sweetheart here was just sentimental, thinking about how sad it would be if District Twelve’s tributes killed themselves the moment the Games started. So we decided on a semi-alliance pact.”

“A semi-alliance pact,” Cinna repeated dubiously, eyes shifting between Haymitch and I, searching for something that was hopefully concealed by neutral expressions.

“A semi-alliance pact,” I confirmed. “We’d be just like another alliance, except we won’t be with each other.”

“And you’re sure you won’t kill each other, dear?” Effie questioned. Then jumped at my glare. “Well, you and Haymitch seem to be adversaries, that’s all. I’m just being cautious.”

“I won’t kill Haymitch,” I promised, then paused, reconsidering my words. “Unless he tries to kill me, or we somehow make it to the Final Two.” Haymitch’s displeased grunt told me that I had mostly achieved in moving the deal to my side, even if unknowingly. Feeling slightly more confident, I added, “We’ll share resources, when we can, and try to help each other.”

Cinna nodded slowly, “And that’s it?”

Haymitch glanced at me, “Course not, Cinna. What, you think I’m that much of an idiot to just leave it at that? We’re supposed to polish things over, get our game plan and all that shit, but you three interrupted us.”

Cinna turned to be at that, “Well then, if you’re willing to go through that pact with Haymitch, then you should just follow the plan we had laid out from the beginning, which we made for the inclusion of the District Twelve female’s inclusion.”

I leaned back, “Alright. What is it?” I was eager to hear what they had originally planned, and whether or not it was even worth using.

“Don’t be so hasty, Sweetheart,” Haymitch said, breaking me from my thoughts. “First, you’re going to tell us what exactly you have up your sleeve. Maybe extend on that little knife trick of yours.”

“Knife trick?” Cinna repeated in surprise, as if he had yet to be informed of the incident. I jerked back in shock. I hadn’t given much thought into the incident, other than the fact that it placed a slight damper into my plans, but I expected that Effie would’ve already told Cinna about what had happened. Apparently, I was wrong.

“Peeta was right,” Haymitch said. It was one of the few times that the subject of Peeta Mellark was brought up. “She’s a little fire. The girl’s got some spunk in her.”

“And I thought,” I said slowly, “That I had no spunk in me whatsoever.” That’s what he said on the train, and apparently, judging by recent memory, I wasn’t completely right.

“You can survive,” Haymitch admitted. “Now. Knife trick.”

“You’re not my mentor,” I responded petulantly, and no doubt childishly. “Why don’t Effie —or better yet, Cinna— handle that?”

“I’m the one who can get you out alive, Sweetheart,” Haymitch growled. “So. Knife trick.”

I quickly glanced at my surroundings, which were all priceless Capitol artifacts that I wasn’t sure I was even allowed to touch. But then again, I don’t really care, do I? If I’m going to die for the amusement of a couple of useless, overly colorful and insane Capitolites, then I might as well destroy some of their stuff, should I? Instead of quickly agreeing however, I diverted Haymitch’s command, “I don’t see any knives here. Or any targets.”

Cinna tapped a button on the coffee table, and an Avox walked over, looking unbearably familiar. The distant memory of a boy and a girl flashed in her mind, a harpoon in the chest, blood spraying and a net dropping, the girl screaming for help. I was startled, jumping up without thinking, and jumping my knee on the table in the process.

“Katniss, dearie,” Effie said in an unbearable squeak. “Are you alright?”

I glanced at the Avox and shook my head. “I’m fine. I just thought something bit my leg.” I forced a smile from my lips. “Nothing bad.” I sat back down, watching as Cinna had the Avox retrieve a knife. The Avox returned with a shiny silver blade.

I held it experimentally in my hands testing its weight whilst noting features that weren’t noticeable from faraway, the handle made of leather. Unlike the worn ones back home however, this knife was brand new, blade sharp and pointed and leather new and unworn.

“Left eye of that portrait,” I said, pointing to a large painting of a man with stark white hair, against a brown background, wearing a suit. I flicked my wrist, the knife landed in the eye I intended, a bit off-center. I would not have achieved this, had the painting been any smaller. I was lucky, with how large the painting is, that the eye had been the size of my fist maybe.

Cinna leaned back, and relaxed. “Good. Your weapon is good. There’s almost always knives in the Games. You’re practically assured to have a knife in the Arena.”

I was tempted to ask, ‘What about a bow?’ but kept quiet, allowing Cinna to continue.

“Both of you will grab the three things closest to you, plus a weapon,” Cinna explained. His eyes flashed, staring at both of us critically. “Preferably, you would pick up a weapon too, if it’s close enough to you.”

I nodded. “Should we make a designated meeting point?”

“No,” Haymitch denied. “If the Careers find out, especially that new kid, Cato, they’d find us and kill us. You don’t want to be killed, do you, Sweetheart?”

“No,” I answered. “I don’t want to get killed. What am I going to do then?”

“You,” Haymitch said, commandingly, “Have a simple job: survive. I will stay with my allies.”

In curiosity, I asked, “You know, you never told me, why exactly you’re so adamant on having me survive.”

Haymitch snorted as a response. “I’m an old man, Sweetheart.” A lie. Haymitch is in his early-forties, at best and mid-forties, at worst. There are other Victor-Tributes, like Brutus, who would be about the same age as him, with a few like Woof who would be older than him. He has next to nothing to worry about, other than his physique and notable alcohol addiction, to worry about. “And I’d like to see a District Twelve tribute win before I die.” He made a dramatic pause, as if acting for an audience that I didn’t know was there. “Or at least have the knowledge that a District Twelve tribute is getting close to winning.”

Despite the answer being very logical, and believable, I had the feeling that it wasn’t the truth— or at least, it wasn’t the complete truth.

“Anything else you want to add to your speech?” I asked.

“Yeah,” said Haymitch, “Stay away from the Careers. Don’t punch Finny Boy, Annie, Johanna and the rest of my allies. Easy things to do, right, Sweetheart?”

I clenched my teeth. “Yeah. I can do that.”

Cinna stood up. "Well, you two can talk this over tomorrow." He glanced at Effie, clearly trying to be discreet. "In the meantime, do feel free to head back to the Training Center, your absence has been noticed.”