A/N This is a submission to Prompts in Panem (promptsinpanem on tumblr) for the visual prompt of The Capitol. Check out my tumblr (absnow) for other submissions from this week's challenge.
Capitol Credits
Katniss dips her fork into the molded souffle. The tip of the prongs scrape against the delicately thin china plate with a toe curling screech. She takes a bite. It's some sort of goose liver puree with pearl onions and a root vegetable that's rarely in season. It took a fleet of cooks in the kitchen to assemble all the dishes that are spread before her, and she's picked at every single one. Hours went into preparing this feast.
She hates every single plate.
She snaps her finger and her red headed Avox approaches within seconds.
"These are no good," she says, scowling at the memory of the taste. "Get rid of it."
The Avox begins to gather the plates from the glass coffee table and loads them onto a silver dining cart. She rolls the cart into the kitchen, where the food will all be disposed of down the drain.
Katniss is annoyed. She's still hungry, and she can't think of a thing that will appease her appetite.
The door to her apartment slides open and Peeta walks in carrying a white box wrapped in a large, orange ribbon.
"You could have knocked," she says dully, dabbing fallen crumbs from her skirt using her pointer finger. "I could have been busy."
"Of course. You're always so busy," he says, his tone teasing. "Have you made if off the couch yet this afternoon?"
"I've thought about it," she says, her eyes narrowing and her face twisting into a petulant pout. "It's a holiday; anyway, I really don't have to."
"Ah, yes, Reaping Day," he says, and sits on the sofa beside her. He extends the white box to her, and she hurriedly pulls at the ties to unravel the bow. "The bakery closed early because of it, so we had plenty of leftovers."
Lifting the lid, Katniss discovers a wide assortment of elaborately decorated pastries. She pinches one delicately between her fingers and then eats it in one bite.
"I could eat three full boxes of these without purging," she sighs and collapses against the plush couch cushion.
"You're in luck," he chuckles. "That's about how many we have left. The bakery was dead today with everyone watching live coverage. My brother wouldn't shut up about all the money he put down on the District 2 tribute."
"District 2?" Katniss rolls her eyes. "How original. Based off the spread he won't get any of his money back."
"That's what I told him," Peeta says, reaching into the box to pluck one of the cakes for himself, but Katniss slaps his hand away. He licks the remnants of frosting from his fingertips. "He's calling it an investment. He says he could be the next Finnick Odair if he could make his arrogance charming. Have you seen him yet? Marcus Cato?"
"No," Katniss says, reaching for the remote to her television. "I was just about to turn on the recap. I need to decide who I'm going to spend my reaping allowance on this year."
"You could always do what I do," he suggests.
Every year, Peeta holds onto his reaping allowance until after the blood bath. Then he picks the tribute with the lowest odds and uses it to buy them a loaf of bread from their district. He thinks it's compassionate to send a lamb waiting for its slaughter a final token from home.
Katniss thinks the lamb would prefer a knife to fight back.
It's a tradition on Reaping Day for Capitol parents to give their children a more extravagant allowance to sponsor their favorite tribute. And now that she's 16, Katniss has enough credits to fund actual useful items, instead of silly things like bottles of water and medical kits. She's certainly not going to waste her money on a tasteless loaf of outer district bread.
The recap show of the day's reapings begins to play, and Katniss turns the volume up to its loudest setting. It's hosted by Caesar Flickerman, her favorite, and features each tribute in district order, starting with District 1 and ending with District 12.
As more sponsor shares for a contestant are purchased, the price per credit increases. Before the show even begins, the price for the career districts is already magnitudes more expensive than for the rest of the players, and Katniss lets out an annoyed sigh, because she'll only be able to buy one or two shares with the pot of money she has saved.
Peeta's brother was right about the District 2 tribute. He's said to be 18, but could pass as a man in his 20's. He stands a head and shoulder above the rest of the District 2 candidates and barrels towards the stage, even when his name isn't called. He will be a competitor indeed.
None of the other tributes leave much of an impression on her. There's a girl from Five that she and Peeta chuckle over when he points out her resemblance to a fox, and the boy from District 11 looks large and aggressive enough to be a Career. She jots down his name and considers placing a bet right away before the rest of the Capitol citizens recognize his potential.
Finally, they air footage from District 12. Nobody bothers with the tributes from that district, but their segment is always a highlight because of the bumbling mentor who often manages to say something funny, or fall haplessly into the crowd.
"He's always drunk!" Peeta exclaims, when Katniss mentions how silly he seems.
Effie Trinket is the escort for this district, and it becomes a running gag with Caesar that if there were ever to be a Hunger Games for district escorts, Effie Trinket would be the surprise victor, because she's fought so hard and for so long to be promoted.
"Ladies first!" Effie trills, and reaches into the glass ball of paper slips. She unfolds the tiny scroll and chirps happily: "Primrose Everdeen."
"Everdeen?" Peeta quirks an eyebrow. "Maybe you're related."
Katniss grimaces. Related to someone from Twelve? She shakes her head. "I don't think so."
The camera focuses on a young girl with two blond pigtails braided down her back. The back of her blouse isn't tucked in properly and it looks like the tuft of a duck tail. There's no way this girl is 12 years old. She's barely even a child.
Katniss's eyes widen and her jaw goes slack at the sight of the little girl marching stoically towards the stage.
"That can't be right," she says. "She's too young."
"It says she's 12," Peeta shrugs. "That means she's eligible."
That's true, but based on the structure of the lottery, younger tributes are rarely selected. The youngest Katniss can recall was 14, and that was Finnick Odair. In the career districts, sometimes younger tributes were called upon, but somebody older - somebody who has been trained, always volunteered to take their place.
Not a soul in District 12 raises their hand though.
Katniss feels like her heart may explode, and terror floods through her veins. She reaches onto the closest thing she can hold onto, Peeta, and she grips his arm so tightly, her fingers turn white.
"We have to do something," she tells him, her eyes unmoving from the television screen.
"What can we do Katniss? If it isn't her, it'll just be another innocent kid thrown to the wolves."
She'd never thought of it like that. Every year it was a sea of nameless faces, and once they were eliminated, they were gone. Nobody remembered them, or grieved for them. Why would they? It was a game after all.
"Don't you see?" Peeta says, twisting on the sofa so that he's facing her. His blue eyes are round and focused, he's always getting impassioned over trivial things. "They're all people, like you and me, why do they deserve to die?"
She looks away, lifting her hard set chin so that he can't read her expression. "If we don't keep them in line, they'll kill us," she argues. "You've seen the videos from the dark days."
"Do you really think that little girl is going to start a revolution?" Peeta laughs. "The districts don't care about us, they just want to survive."
Katniss sets her box of sweets on the glass table and crosses the room to pick up her telephone.
"What are you doing?" he asks, his eyes following her quizzically.
"I'm calling my cousin," she says stubbornly. "Seneca's the Gamemaker. Certainly there's something he can do to rectify this."
Seneca laughs at her request and speaks to her with a patronizing tone, as if she were a child. She slams the phone against the cradle, and roughly pulls her garishly jeweled purse onto the table to empty its contents.
"What are you doing?" Peeta asks, watching her sort through her assortment of coins.
"How much money do you have?" she demands.
He reaches into his pocket to reveal a fold of Capitol credits. "Just my reaping allowance, but I have some more at home."
"Get all of it," she says, counting out her credits. "We're going to sponsor her, and she's going to win."
When the trains all pull into the station, the tributes are taken to their stylists and prep teams to prepare for the opening ceremonies. The mentors however, spend these evenings in the sponsor lounges, meeting with high rolling investors. Most of the big spenders are older, and amongst the most affluent in all of Panem. Peeta and Katniss stick out like sore thumbs at this party.
She doesn't regularly play dress up, and the ill fitting, sleek gown hangs in a way that constantly leaves her feeling exposed. She pulls at the thin strap to adjust it for the fifth time that minute, and Peeta places his hand over hers to stop her fidgeting.
"You look beautiful," he says, and if she didn't already know for a fact that it wasn't true, she'd almost believe him.
Body dyeing is all the rage these days, and Katniss had tattooed temporary flames up her arms and along her bare back that are detailed with red and yellow gemstones. Her fake eyelashes weigh heavy on her eyelids with shiny red strands that obscure her vision.
Peeta doesn't look too bad himself in a perfectly tailored suit which is studded with small pearls at the cuff links. She'd never compliment him out loud though. That would be strange.
They approach the main desk to set up a meeting with the District 12 mentor, Haymitch Abernathy. His appointment book is completely empty, while even some of the District 9 and 10 tributes have garnered some interest. Katniss scrawls hers and Peeta's name in the first slot, and immediately they're escorted to see him.
They pass the other mentors, who sit at full banquet tables behind lavish feasts purchased by their investors. Katniss can't help but blush when her eyes lock with Finnick Odair's at the District 4 table. He's surrounded by scantily dressed women, all decades older than him. His table is the most expensive to sit at, but it's always completely full.
District 12 doesn't even get a whole table, only a booth tucked into the far corner of the banquet hall. There are a dozen empty glasses that litter the space in front of Haymitch. He's slouched heavily against the bench, and the top buttons of his suit have been sloppily undone and refastened haphazardly.
Peeta's reluctant about the meeting and guards Katniss with his body while he assesses the safety of sitting with a quite literal pile of filth. Eventually, he slides into the booth across from him and Katniss follows.
It takes a few minutes before Haymitch acknowledges that they're there. He's sleeping, maybe, and when he finally wakes up, he blinks a few times before he can focus on his new guests.
"What do you want?" he grumbles.
"We'd like to help your tribute," Peeta takes the cue to speak, when Katniss doesn't. "Primrose Everdeen?"
He laughs, a thick heavy laugh that leads to a convulsion of wet sounding coughs. "If you want to help, you can take your lunch money and get me another drink," he says gruffly.
"I think you've had plenty," Peeta says evenly, his eyes dipping to count the glasses on the table. Haymitch doesn't listen, and he reaches for a flute of some bubbling liquid off a tray as an Avox walks by. Peeta slaps the glass away and it shatters on the floor. "We have 10,000 credits if you're interested."
"10,000 credits, eh?" he mulls it over. "What's that going to buy you? A knife? Good luck teaching the kid how to use one."
"That's not my job, now is it," Peeta says, and he slides each glass that Haymitch left into a neat line at the edge of the table to be collected.
"Look kid." His face softens, allowing for his gray eyes to open a bit wider. Katniss can't help but notice how pained they looked. "Even 10 million credits isn't going save this girl."
"It has to," she says abruptly. She thinks of all the Games she's watched before and suddenly a decade's worth of knowledge begins to desperately pour from her mouth. "Tell her to run away, to hide in the trees or underground, she can get by because she's small. Teach her how to survive and she will. While the others do away with each other with violence and destruction, she can skate by because they won't see her as a threat. They'll have brute force on their side, but even the smallest clink in the giant's armor can be his downfall. We have mockingjays for a reason, after all, don't we?"
He looks at her skeptically, but there's a fire burning behind his eyes that wasn't there before. Even Peeta arches his eyebrows, impressed by her passion.
"10,000 credits for food, water, blankets, whatever she needs to get by," Peeta says. "We can get you more when the time comes, but you need to make sure she knows how to use it all."
Peeta slides the fold of money across the table, but Haymitch stops him, and pushes it back.
"I'm not taking your money kid."
"You have to," Katniss says indignantly. "You can't let this innocent girl die. It's wrong."
"You want to do what's right?" Haymitch asks, shooing the money away again. "When the time comes, you'll know what to do."
Katniss is livid and drags her feet the entire way home. "The nerve of that man," she shouts so loudly that people begin to turn their heads as they pass.
"I don't know Katniss," Peeta shrugs. He doesn't seem upset or concerned as he walks beside her with his hands tucked in his pockets, and she finds it even more infuriating. "I think he was talking about something else. Something bigger."
"He's just looking for a quick out from the Games, so he can spend more time at the lounge bar instead of being a proper mentor."
"What if Finnick Odair had told you the same thing?" Peeta teases, and knocks his shoulder against hers. "You would have praised him for being stoic and brave, like the hero he is."
She rolls her eyes, but can feel heat rising in her cheeks. "I do not have a thing for Finnick Odair," she says.
"You think he's cute."
"I do not! I don't think anyone's cute," she argues.
He pouts his lower lip and sets his shimmering blue eyes on her. "You don't think I'm cute?"
"Not right now," she intones.
His grin widens. "But sometimes?"
She doesn't respond, but she reaches for his hand and laces her fingers with his and their joined hands swing between them as they walk.
The tribute parade begins soon, and those who don't have a ticket to the big show have already vacated the streets to watch from their homes. It's almost quiet, which is rare for the Capitol. It's always blustering with some sort energy. The silence gives her too much time to think. She doesn't like it.
"I'd much rather be rejected by Finnick Odair than by Haymitch Abernathy though," she concedes when the silence becomes too much. "I really wish we could have helped her."
"Me too," he says.
They round the corner away from the banquet hall, and suddenly Katniss is trapped in a suffocating darkness by some sort of bag being slipped over her face. The last thing she sees is a look of horror on Peeta's face and his muffled scream. Their hands are ripped apart and then everything goes black.