Chapter Two
A/N: I only own the names of characters you the reader do not recognize.
I, along with the rest of my family, was led into the rickety old justice building. I always hated this building, though I didn't know why.
"Davis," Christina whispered. "What's going on?"
I didn't know until George walked in. Mom and Dad had friends of their own and so I guessed it was part of the Games.
"Hey bud," George smiled but one could tell it was forced. "Who's going to help me torment my siblings?"
I chuckled at that. George had a way of defusing the tension. Just another characteristic that made him that much more…desirable, I guess was the right word. He'd make a girl lucky when he got a little older.
"Try to win," he told me in a whisper. I couldn't help but tense at that. Whether due to the idea of winning or the fact that George asked me to, I'll never know because he left at that moment.
Christina hugged her friend whom she was talking to and I watched her leave as well. A knot grew in my stomach as I realized that we might not see these people again.
No, the Capitol wouldn't do that, I thought and shook away the negative feelings. It was just nerves.
"Time to get on the train," I hear my mother tell us and for once her voice isn't confident and smooth but weak and shaky. Christina and I glance at each other and do as she says without arguing. There are cameras everywhere and while I'm giving them a blank look, Christina's acting like this is the time of her life.
She always does enjoy a crowd, I thought bemusedly. Our mother is giving all the cameramen death glares and once again she proves she is the scariest woman on the planet.
"Thank god," our father sighs once the train door closes. "Brings back memories of the Quarter Quell and our first Games."
"Genuine or fake?" our mother asks him and I couldn't help but raise an eyebrow. Our father never spoke of fake memories before.
"Real," our father smiles at our mother but then groans. "Got to sit down. The old leg can't take much more of this."
Leg problems too? I wonder how our father is going to make it out of this alive if he's suffering so much.
"Haymitch," our mother greets the man with a smirk. "Seems like it's up to you to make sure we stay alive again. Up to the challenge?"
"Only if you do as you're told," Haymitch tells her in a gruff voice. "The boy too. Your daughter thankfully can take direction."
"Hey!" our mother and I gripe but no one listens. The blue haired woman leads us all onto a couch in front of a television—to see who our competition is. I'm not paying attention to them; I'm paying attention to my parents instead. They don't show any reaction until District Two, when a fairly attractive boy with wavy black hair was selected.
"Hawthorne," our mother gasps and her hand flies to her mouth. "Gale!"
Our father puts an arm around our mother in comfort, while Christina watches the television. She hates seeing our mother in pain just as much as I do. The tributes don't warrant another reaction until we get to District Four.
"Annie," our mother gasps again, and our father has a harden look in his eyes. When a young boy graces the stage, our father speaks. "Look Katniss, doesn't he look just like Finnick?"
"Except for the hair," our mother says with a shaky chuckle. "That's defiantly Annie's hair."
I turn back to the television, not even noticing when my mother gasps at the older District Seven tribute or how she looks away at the new District Eleven girl tribute.
"That's everyone!" the blue haired woman states in her annoying cheerful voice. "Why don't you go and freshen up before we arrive at the capitol?"
"That's not a bad idea," Haymitch nods, and I'm more inclined to do it if he's advocating it. I can't stand this woman, being all cheerful while I have to go and fight my own family?
I walk to a compartment and grab my father's arm as I do so. My father isn't that hard to dig information out of. All you have to do is beg just the right amount.
"What is all this?" I ask. "What was the Rebellion and why is Mom acting the way she is?"
Dad looks nervous, which is usually a good sign that I'm close to getting information out of him. Like I said, he's not a hard nut to crack.
"How'd you find out about that?" he asks, a raised eyebrow gracing his face. "Eavesdropping again Davis Thresh Mellark?"
Oooh the full name. Dad hasn't pulled that out since I was five and didn't want to go to the bakery with him.
"Maybe," I shrug. "But what's the deal Dad? I mean, it's not like they could kill us."
My father doesn't answer. A knot rebuilds in my stomach and I just want to pass out.
"Could they?" I try again, slight panic building in my voice. I didn't want to think of having to kill anyone. I just wanted my family to stay alive. I didn't even notice my father getting to my level until I feel his hand on my shoulder.
"Davis," he says in his calming voice that makes me feel safe and at home, "the Hunger Games are a way for the Capitol to show they still have control."
"Control of what?" I ask. My father glances over his shoulder before answering and I can't help but wonder why.
"The districts," he states. "The Rebellion is something your mother and I fought in when we were about eighteen or so. It was successful and peace was brought to the land until the elections after your birth. That's when things started to go back to the way they used to be before the rebellion."
"Why didn't you stop it?" I asked. My father chuckles at my indignation.
"So much like your mother," he sighs. "It happened gradually, so slowly that we didn't notice it until yesterday when it was announced that the Hunger Games would be brought back."
I nod, to show that I understand. It's not that hard to understand actually, once someone actually takes the time to explain and not just over react like mother did.
"Your mother is acting the way she is because she doesn't want you or your sister to die," my father states and I completely understand now. I would have to fight to the death, and yet somehow keep myself from seeing my entire family die.
"Go freshen up," my father lightly shoves me out the door and I can't help but chuckle. My idea of freshening up is different than my sister's or my mother's. I make do with just throwing water on my face and then wiping it off with my hands.
"Is that all you're going to do?" Christina asks as she leaves the bathroom. Mother has fixed her hair so she no longer looks like she has a bird's nest living on top of her head.
"I'm a guy," I shrug and she sticks out her tongue at me. Suddenly, we're hit with a bright light and I can't help but join my sister as we look at the Capitol for the first time. It's so bright, unlike Twelve. I can't help but think about the people who must live here.
"It's wonderful, isn't it?" the blue haired woman is back. "Haymitch, give some advice to your tributes before they face the arena won't you?"
Haymitch glares at the woman as she leaves once more and I find myself liking the old man more and more. Clearing his throat, Haymitch has one piece of advice. "Stay alive."
"Easier said than done," my father states in a grim voice. "Haymitch, we're dealing with both friends and unknowns."
"You think I don't know that?" Haymitch asks, and for once he almost seems worried. "Fine Peeta, you want some advice? Let your wife handle the dirty work and you stay out of the way."
"Very funny," my father glares at the older man but I think it's very good advice. Father has leg troubles, and memory problems. Mother doesn't—at least not to my knowledge.
"Haymitch," my mother now has a glare on her face as well, "Annie is in this as well. I'm not going to kill her."
"It's kill or be killed, sweetheart," Haymitch corrects her. "The Capitol doesn't care about your morals. They just want a show."
He then turns to Christina and me, and I hold in a gulp. I know I'm shorter than the average sixteen year old, which puts me at a disadvantage if there was to be any hand-to-hand combat. Give me a weapon of any kind, though, and watch out.
"Your kids," he turns back to my mother, "how well will they handle their first time in the arena? Have you trained them at all?"
"We didn't think they'd bring the Games back," my mother states in a soft voice.
"Well that was stupid!" Haymitch roars and again I agree with him. "They'll be the first ones the Career Tributes go for and you know it."
"That's enough!" my father bursts into the argument. "Katniss, they'll have time to train. We'll make sure they stay near us in the arena."
I stand off to the side, slightly amused but mainly frightened. I've never seen my mother go at it with Haymitch before, and the idea that I might have to kill her to stay alive keeps going through my head.
"Why don't we worry about getting you sponsors?" Haymitch throws out there, and my mother nods.
"What are sponsors?" Christina asks as she brushes a strand of blond hair out of her eyes.
"Sponsors are your key to winning," Haymitch tells her. "It's life or death out there and the Sponsors can decide the difference. Let's hope you've got your father's charisma."
I roll my eyes but know out of the two of us, Christina's got the better shot of getting sponsors. Good. That will make sure she stays alive, I can't help but think. Let's make sure the better Mellark child goes back to Twelve alive.
"Let the Games begin," my mother states in a grave voice as the train stops.
"You're just not looking forward to going back into the styling room are you?" my father teases and for one moment, all feels right. Almost as if we were at home, instead of on a train leading us to our death.
