A/N: Hey again. This is Chapter Two, and I'd like to warn that I won't be updating as often anymore, since I'm trying to do more of my schoolwork. And I haven't put a disclaimer for the first chapter, so I'll put it here. Anyway, enjoy!

Disclaimer: This disclaimer applies to all chapters. I do not own the Hunger Games, because if I did, then I wouldn't even be here, and I never want to not be here.


Chapter 2

The air circulation in the Capitol Training Centre is poorer than before - I keep finding myself choking on the steamy mid-shower air, constantly gasping for oxygen until my lungs and throat hurt.

But there isn't any left, not after I saw what happened in District Three, just two or three days ago.

Peacekeepers in freshly-pressed, snow-white (Snow-white?) uniforms marched in perfect formation behind their leaders, some of them overseeing the crowds from machine-gun nests on the roofs of government buildings. Watching every twitch and blink. Shooting dead anyone who made a wrong move – even a child who, in her rebellious thoughtlessness and innocence, wrote the President's name on a scrap of paper and tore it up.

The Peacekeepers are like the trees I climb at home. One false step – one mistake – and down you go, falling to the forest floor, and then you limp home with a twisted ankle or sprained arm. But here, the Peacekeepers shoot you in the head, and there's no getting up and going back home. It's just laying there until they retrieve your body and cremate you.

The water from the showerhead is too hot. It burns my skin, and the rosy scent of the soap is suddenly overwhelmingly, nauseatingly strong. I hiss and scream, fighting my way out of the posh Capitol bathroom, my hair still bubbly with shampoo and my body still lathered with bath gel. Soapy water drips into a pool around my feet on the hardwood floorboards, but I can't bring myself to care.

I stumble across the room and wrestle open the windows, throwing the soft beige curtains aside and taking deep breaths of the wintry air. Downstairs, I can hear Gale, Effie and Haymitch calling out to me – Gale the most – but I ignore them. I just need a few minutes to calm down. As Rory says, chill...

When I've finally cooled down, I go back into the shower and wash off the soap, braid my hair and dress in the gown that Cinna laid out for me. I vaguely register that it's pretty, but my foggy mind can't think of why. Does it really matter, now? Do clothes really earn themselves a place in my worries?

I think not.

I make my way down the spiral staircase and into the lobby of the Justice Building where my escort, mentor and lover await my arrival. They sigh in relief when they see me – I guess maybe they thought I fainted in the bath or something like that.

"There you are," Effie says in her usual, over-enthusiastic manner, and promptly ushers us into formation, walks us up and down the lengthy marble-clad hallway, and lectures all of us on walking, moving, smiling and schedules. She forces us to practise and rehearse until we get it all just right for five times in a row, just to make sure, and then she sits us down and gets us water to drink.

Before the dinner tonight, we have to make a speech regarding our victory, with prompts from our faithful interviewer, Caesar Flickerman. It's always supposed to be unscripted, but every year the victors, their mentors and escorts write one out. For us, Effie did most of the work, and Haymitch, Gale and I just made slight modifications here and there. Not that I mind.

Gale intends to put in an unscripted rebellious implication again, just for the fun of it, and to maybe set another few districts on fire. I gladly approve – what could be better at this point? The Capitol isn't fireproof, and although that is their only weakness, our inferno is our only strength, and that is what we will use.

By nightfall, we are gathered in a small circle in the lobby of President Snow's mansion. Effie forces us to rehearse one more time and then pushes us into formation. I can hear Caesar speaking, warming up the crowd, talking about everything from how extraordinary our victory is to Effie's 'splendid' choice of fashion this year. He even introduces them to the fountain of rice wine in the corner, referring to it as 'Haymitch wine', since that's the kind of liquor our mentor drinks. His audience laughs and raves to each other about similar matters and when I hear glasses clinking, I suspect they've given a toast, probably of rice wine.

Then he introduces us. Effie waves us on and one after another, we step out onto the stage, blinking against the bright light and smiling with as much dignity and joy as we can muster.

This year, Caesar's hair is dyed lavender, and so are his eyelids and lips. He applauds with the audience when Gale and I emerge, arms linked and smiling like the Cheshire Cat in Alice in Wonderland. I don't know the story well, but my father used to tell it to me at bedtime, saying that it's a very old fairytale but that it's still fairly popular. I remember liking Alice because she was adventurous like me, and Prim loved the grinning Cheshire Cat. It leads me to believe that she loves and adopted Buttercup because of her preference for the character, even though the resemblance is almost nonexistent.

We keep up the smiling until Caesar introduces us, sits us down on a plush leather loveseat and begins the interview/speech. Closer to him, I can just catch hints of grey at the roots of his lavender hair, the slight shadows under his eyes that even the thick makeup cannot conceal. He looks tired and stressed; almost like he's got the weight of a war on his midnight-blue clad shoulders, too.

But on the questions and scripted actions flow, and his flawless professionalism is as smooth as usual. At one point, he asks about our daily routine back home, and Gale says that we like to go to the edge of the fence at the Meadow and watch the birds sing in the trees beyond. He tells Caesar that I would sing to the mockingjays and they would sing back, and how I remind him so much of them.

"She's like a mockingjay," he says confidently, and I can almost see President Snow flinch at the mention of the bird who showed up the Capitol. He leans down and presses his lips to my hairline. "Surviving against all odds. Refusing to just be another teenager in Panem. Even when those odds were never in her favour." He wraps one arm protectively around my waist. "Just like a mockingjay."

He glances meaningfully down at me, and I turn to Caesar before the rebellious hint sinks in too much, quickly adding something cheery to ease the building tension. "I tell him he is too, but he won't believe me," I say lightheartedly, and it works, at least for this crowd.

Caesar laughs good-naturedly, quickly skipping over and ignoring the hints of retribution. "Ah. Mockingjays. Our Katniss Everdeen looks like she does have a beautiful voice, just like that songbird." Then he pauses, as if he's made a mistake, and looks Gale right in the eyes. "Or are you intending to make her a Hawthorne, now?"

Gale smiles. "It's something to think about."

The renewed ease on his face tells me that the prompts for the districts are over, and that our job is done for the evening. Now all we have to do is enjoy the food, music and dancing, and show how two bony things from District 12 can actually revel in the Capitol's wrath.