True to her word, Effie arrived promptly after breakfast the following morning after Haymitch had gone a restless night considering his actions and running over every possible arena scenario in his head. It helped to let his brain run wild so that he knew he would be too exhausted to dream if he did manage to fall asleep, but it put him in a worse mood despite his eight cups of coffee before Effie stepped off the elevator.
Sprawled across the couch, he ignored her attempts to get him to sit up properly as she listed the possible angles he could use to play the audience, but since Portia had told him to be himself, he was perfectly content to follow the latter's lead instead of the former's. If Portia had even been there to work with Effie, things might have gone smoother, but as it had been with Katniss when Haymitch tried to coach her last year, working with Effie only made both of them more agitated because they brought out the worst in each other. There was no one Haymitch could fully open up emotionally to, no one he trusted on that level that was alive today, except perhaps Mags whom he had always nurtured a soft spot for.
Effie insisted that they practice some interview questions, but Haymitch didn't see the need because he already knew what the audience was expecting and even his surly attitude wasn't appealing, the combination of his costume, training score, and the fact that he was Katniss's dedicated teammate would help the audience cater to him. And even then, Caesar Flickerman would do the opposite of what Effie was doing and make him appear far more likeable than he was. Caesar and Haymitch had been through this series of interviews before and the Master of Ceremonies knew how Haymitch preferred to be interviewed.
Haymitch had been sixteen the last time he sat in the hot seat and Caesar had been fairly new to his job at the time, having replaced his predecessor in recent years. Caesar had about four or five years on Haymitch, but youth had not deterred him from becoming the most memorable host the Games had ever seen so that at around twenty years of age, he was still very much a child when compared to the tributes he was interviewing. Both he and Haymitch had grown up on television but where the years had been kinder to Caesar's face, Haymitch had only perfected his scowl. Still, Caesar would know how to help Haymitch earn the audience's favor.
Effie slapped her cue cards down on the coffee table, her frustration showing clearly by the way her wig was slipping. "You might at least attempt to work with me here instead of sulking like a spoiled child. This will be your last chance to win sponsors, Haymitch, so do try not to look like you're about to leap off the stage and throttle someone."
"Lady, I'm about to go back into the Games, my second Quell, with the deadliest tributes ever to come out of an arena and I know I'm going to die. You know it, I know it, Peeta knows it. Only Katniss doesn't because she'd try to protect me if she did. But I'm about to die for her, so unless you're planning on taking my place, you'd better step off and let me sulk as much as I goddamn please."
"I would!" snapped Effie and then clapped her hands over her mouth, searching about for any cameras that might be present. "I would," she said again, though much quieter, but as she spoke, her eyes welled with tears. "I would go into that arena to protect her, as I would for Peeta because they're my victors, my children—or as close as I'll ever get to having children. I think of them as my own and I would do anything to save them. I know you would too because you love them in the same way, don't you?"
Haymitch didn't have to confirm it with words. She already knew, and so he nodded, hoping that this information would stay strictly between the two of them.
Effie let out a pathetic wail and threw her arms around him, sobbing in a small amount of relief and happiness that he had admitted such a thing to her. She rambled on about how she knew his heart still worked underneath his hard outer shell and he was on the verge of pointing out that no one thought she had a heart to begin with when she pulled back and kissed his cheek.
"Okay, stop. Pull it together."
He made her sit up and awkwardly patted her back a few times so that she could compose herself and when she did, he scooted discretely away from her so that he would not be in the danger zone of being forcibly hugged again. He didn't mind showing affection to the two people he knew deserved it, but accepting it from someone who had given him every reason to think she detested him—he didn't know how to react and had not had a female do something so intimate as kiss him since the last time he had seen his girlfriend before Snow had her murdered.
He wondered if Effie knew that. Everyone else seemed to because all the dark secrets of the reaped victors were coming to light now.
"Effie, have you always known what happened to my family?"
With a small hiccup, Effie nodded. Another surprise from this supposedly heartless, brainless, materialistic woman. She had known since the beginning, since their first time working together during the 68th Hunger Games when she was presented as the new escort for District 12. Haymitch had been blackout drunk through all those years leading up to the 74th Games, lost in his misery and memories, but Effie never brought up the subject of his family, even to use it to get him to at least try and keep their tributes alive. He needed to know why.
"You never said anything," he prompted.
"You didn't need to be reminded, and even if I had, I doubt you would have heard me," said Effie, and if Haymitch wasn't mistaken, he detected loss in her voice. Hurt.
"Of course I would have. When people bring it up, I shut them down immediately on the subject, so if you'd said anything, I would have responded."
"You already shut me down before I could say a word to you, or don't you remember our first meeting? My predecessor had finally been promoted to District 7 and warned me that you would be difficult to deal with, but I was optimistic because I admired you from the time I was ten years old and saw you win your Games. My parents were disappointed that you won because they had wanted Gossamer to win, but I was vying for you and I wanted nothing more than to meet you, which is why I became an escort, so that I would be able to interact with you, no matter which District I was assigned. I learned everything about you that I could from interviews and past victors, even procuring a meeting with Caesar Flickerman to know the man I was about to meet. And then, when I was chosen for Twelve, I had such high hopes—and you quashed them immediately. You were inebriated around the clock and rude and just hostile in every way. Cruel, even, as if I had done you a personal wrong. I knew nothing I said would have the slightest impact on you, but if I were to bring up your deceased family, I feared what you would do to me, so I said nothing. And now that you're sober and actually listening to me, we've run out of time to become friends and for me to apologize for what happened to your family."
Now he felt like an asshole because he could imagine ten-year-old Effie clapping as Haymitch emerged victorious from the arena while her parents scolded her for supporting such a poor tribute. By then she had already been brainwashed into believing that killing children was acceptable for their entertainment, but she still wanted to meet him. And when her time came, Haymitch could vaguely remember ignoring her as he stumbled drunkenly through their shared Games, refusing to interact with her more than absolutely necessary because she was Capitol spawn and he didn't want anything to do with her. In doing so, he had missed out on having a valuable friend, though he supposed it was all for the best now that he was about to die. The less Effie knew about Haymitch, the more likely Snow would leave her alone in the aftermath.
"Would you tell me what your family was like?" asked Effie, and her tear stains had left marks down her cheeks that completely washed away her makeup so that he saw her true skin color, perhaps for the first time. It was a soft pink color like a newborn baby's.
"On one condition," said Haymitch, seized by a sudden thought. "I want to see what your hair really looks like."
He was asking her to strip away her Capitol identity and remove all of those securities she had developed over the years to feel beautiful, but wasn't she asking the same thing of him, to open up and reveal to her what only the people of District 12 knew? Amazingly, she agreed.
"My mom was a short woman, but fearless. She raised my younger brother and me after our dad died of a pox. She worked as a seamstress in Twelve and then I dropped out of school to get my own job helping an ailing local tend to his few cows. It paid for our needs, anyway, until I was reaped. But before that, my mom never let me think that my brother and I were going to die of starvation. She went without food a lot, just so we could eat, and didn't let us deny the food. And even though she was stubborn to a fault, she was the only one who knew how to calm us down when we would get upset about what the Peacekeepers were doing during the time. Having Thread in Twelve brought back memories of how bad it used to be and I would be on the verge of doing something stupid, just to have a small amount of satisfaction, when my mom would take me aside and run her hands through my hair. My brother took less persuasion, but he wanted to be like me and I had to start guarding my tongue in case I said something rebellious and he repeated it. He was three years younger than me, but he'd grown up faster than I ever did because he understood how important it was to be silent in the districts and save the dangerous thoughts for your dreams."
Haymitch paused, pulling up the images of his family from his memory reserves since he had tried so hard these past twenty-five years to forget their faces in the hope that it wouldn't hurt as much to remember them. His mother with her premature grey hair standing at not even five feet, though with a scowl that could send him cowering in an instant. His brother, a copy of him except lankier and younger.
"And my girlfriend, Tenny, was fifteen when I was reaped. We'd been together for maybe five months, enough time to fall childishly in love, but not enough time to know her, to consider if she was the one I wanted. She had auburn hair and dead eyes like so many of my people from the Seam. I think she took to me because I made her feel some form of life when I talked about fighting the Capitol, but in the end, she was just a clueless girl who got killed because she knew me slightly better than everyone else in Twelve. I can't say that I loved her, but she was mine to protect when Snow had her killed, and that's why I drink, because I got an innocent girl killed for just knowing me."
He hadn't realized it as he recounted his story, but Effie had scooted closer to him again and was now cradling his hand in hers. He stiffened when she gave it a squeeze, preparing to move further away still, but then she was reaching up, removing the pins that held her golden wig in place. The artificial mountain of curls came off like a helmet and Haymitch watched in fascination as she set the wig on the couch and turned her attention to the bald cap that obscured whatever real hair she had. The bald cap blended right into her skin and must have been applied with the world's strongest glue, because it took her a solid three minutes to work it off, but when she did, she continued clutching it even as her real hair popped free from its prison after who-knew-how-long.
It reached just below her ears, wavy, and white-blonde. She self-consciously raked her fingers through it, turning her face away from Haymitch as if to avoid his criticism, but he had none to give. The look suited her and that hair color would have helped her fit right in with the merchants of Twelve. As she made to tuck her hair back up, Haymitch caught her wrist to stop her and then dumped a large portion of water onto the napkin from the table, gesturing at her face. Whatever Effie saw on his face, she must have trusted his intentions, for she took the napkin and began to wipe away her makeup, layer by layer. The lipstick that shaped her lips into a heart at the center, the fake golden tattoos that curved around her eyes, the lashes that protruded far enough to stab someone in the eye if they got too close. It all came off, leaving her looking frightened of being judged, but utterly normal apart from her bleached eyebrows.
"That's what I don't understand about the Capitol," said Haymitch as he gazed upon her with admiration for the courage to overcome the rules the system had set before her, and allow him to see her in her rawest form. "That's why I wanted nothing to do with you to begin with; none of you could understand what true beauty is. You all had some false conception about the things that made you appealing to the rest of the world, but I've seen a change in you in the past year alone, and you went from having powder-white skin at all times to a more natural color. You took it all off so that I could see what you really look like. And you have no idea how beautiful you actually are."
He saw the blush on her pale cheeks as she tried to cover herself, as if she was ashamed of what Haymitch saw. Again, he stopped her.
"No. You may not believe me and you'll go back out into the world wearing everything you just took off, but I want you to see yourself how I see you right now. You look human, real. You look like someone I would have been friends with if you had come to Twelve in this manner instead of hiding behind the Capitol's latest fashion. I wish you would have come to Twelve looking like this; we could have gotten the chance to know each other better then."
"Then I suppose it's a shame neither of us could see past the other's mask of choice," said Effie, and even her voice sounded more normal, less accented.
"I want you to do me a favor, Effie. When these Games are over, when I'm gone, I want you to do this again, take off every bit of artificial beauty on you, and look at yourself in the mirror. Then I want you to take a picture and keep it to remind you that I saw you for who you are, and I regretted how quick I was to judge you, so don't ever let yourself make that same mistake."
"When you're gone…" Effie repeated, and she reached out as if to put her hand on Haymitch's chest, perhaps to straighten his shirt or dust away nonexistent particles, but she seemed to think better of it and put her hand in her lap. She knew of Haymitch's discomfort in human touch, and she respected it now when she so obviously needed it and knew he couldn't reciprocate—which made it surprisingly easy for him to open his arms to her and let her embrace him, sobbing into the crook of his neck.
He let her dry herself out, holding her for as long as she needed before he sensed that she had cried her last tear. Then she sat back, wiping the final trails of wetness from her smooth, natural cheeks, and Haymitch saw her eyes flicker toward his mouth.
No. Don't let it go that far, or there'll be consequences for her if things go badly in the arena.
She was already at risk for just being the escort for Twelve, the district that spawned the two most troublesome victors. It hit Haymitch hard in the stomach like an anvil that Effie could face the same fate as Tenny because of her association with Haymitch and Katniss. Snow could torture her for information that she didn't have, and Haymitch refused to allow history to repeat itself. He made a mental note to demand Effie's immediate evacuation as soon as the gong announced the start of the 75th Games. Somehow, he had to alert Plutarch that Effie was in danger, though Plutarch might have already had set those plans in motion.
All of this passed through his head in a handful of seconds, and in that time, Effie had touched two fingers to his lips, perhaps frightened that he would react harshly if she tried anything more daring. She was leaving the rest up to him, but it was evident in how her fingertips traced the padding of both lips that she was curious, maybe even slightly—enthralled with him.
But he had to say no, for her sake, and because it wasn't right, going from being just shy of loathing someone to suddenly developing feelings for them. He had moved on from despising her, but she was still…foreign to him. Anything he might think or feel in this moment was a product of her opening up to him and not to be encouraged because his life had been claimed, and hers was still wide open.
"Effie, I can't. If Snow ever found out that you were anything more to Katniss and me than just an escort…it would just go bad for you. Being turned into an Avox would be the best you could hope for, the best I could hope for. I won't be responsible for putting you through that, or worse. And whatever you feel, trust me, it's just adrenaline and emotion talking. I said something nice to you for once, but it doesn't mean anything more, you understand that? You understand why I can't let you…continue?"
"I know you can't; that's why I wanted to touch you, just once."
Even as she said it, she was pulling away, when suddenly Haymitch was overcome with a longing to know what it felt like to be properly caressed by a woman. He had a matter of days left to live and he had never even lived his life. He knew none of its pleasures, the best of which was the experience of having a woman express any form of love to him after seeing what sort of man he had become.
"Wait," he said, intending to say more, when Effie brushed her lips against his. He gave in to her desire and let her deepen the kiss as he drew her to him, leaning back to allow her more room. Her hands came up to rest on his chest as he fisted his own hand in her natural hair. Then he stiffened as he felt his body reacting to her. She ended the kiss herself and sat back, completely breaking contact with him.
"I wish we could have had more time, Haymitch," she said with a warble in her throat, and then she gathered up the pieces of her Capitol identity, and was gone.
Splayed out on the couch how she had left him, Haymitch felt confused, angry at himself for allowing things to go as far as they had, and above all, hurt. Where had that kiss come from? What had he said to her that implied he wanted her to do that, apart from telling her that natural beauty was preferred to the freakish looks of the Capitol? Before today, he had become tolerant of Effie, if somewhat annoyed with how she still couldn't pull herself into the reality that the rest of them were living in. She was aware of what was happening, that Haymitch and Katniss were being punished, though for what, she was still oblivious. And though that was for the best, she still had no idea how much danger she was in and what was actually at stake because Haymitch didn't trust her with that information. As attached as she was to Katniss and Peeta, she would not approve of what Haymitch was doing for these young adults that the two of them loved so dearly. She still belonged to the Capitol, not the districts.
But he had let her kiss him because of his own selfish need to feel alive now that he was about to die. As out of character as that was for Effie, she had been the one who broke away and left him without an explanation as to why she didn't allow things to escalate. Maybe she only wanted to kiss him, perhaps to fulfill some childhood dream of kissing the victor she had admired for so long. Either way, it had been brief, and she had ended it on her own terms, which led Haymitch to think that she had manipulated him, played on his sympathies so that she could get close enough to do that.
That fueled his rage. She wouldn't do that, would she? Would she pretend to care about Haymitch's murdered family just to get him to open up to her and give her the gateway to kiss him? Was she testing him to see if he would go after her? Or was she being forced to toy with him so that he would be rattled and confused when the Games began? Anything was possible.
He saw a few particles of powder on the table from her makeup and on the floor he spotted the napkin that had smudges of her removed identity. Scooping up the napkin, he went to the garbage disposal and threw it in before returning to his room to await the arrival of his prep team for his last interview.
When they came, they did so as loudly as possible, foolishly pleased that their work had been so favorable to the audience. Salonius set about to washing and combing the tangled mess that Haymitch knew his hair had become overnight while Arcadius secured him once more in the life-sucking corset and Lycinia re-dyed and trimmed his facial hair since he had managed to sweat and rinse off the previously applied dye in three days. They filled in the stress and age lines to make him appear somewhat younger and to soften the hardened edges of his face. They applied a hint of red and orange makeup at the outer corners of his eyes, though he couldn't tell what for, and then dyed a few subtle tips of his hair the same colors until he began to sympathize with what Katniss had to go through every time her prep team closed in on her.
His team finished with painting intricate flame designs on his neck, collar, and wrists that were applied in skin-colored liquid so that Haymitch knew they were there, but couldn't see them. Finally, they all stepped back to congratulate one another on a job well done before each of them swooped down to kiss him on both cheeks as a gesture of fond farewell. Salonius was the last to leave, regarding him as one might gaze upon a pet.
"I'm lucky enough to have been a member of your prep team for two Quarter Quells, Haymitch, and you may look more or less the same with much less personality, but the drive to win is still there. Don't let go of that."
He didn't leave Haymitch time to think of a response as he left, only to be replaced by Portia who was carrying a coal-black suit with a stark-white vest and a complimentary red undershirt. The suit sparkled when it caught the light and the grey shifted to reveal a moving pattern of magma-red at times while looking like harmless ash at other moments. What Haymitch had originally taken for rippling waves were in fact, fluttering feathers—another nod to the mockingjay. Portia spread some sort of cooling cream across the areas where the prep team had stenciled in invisible flames and then let him dress himself. She made sure that his chest was once again exposed, though in a significantly more modest way than it had been during the Tribute Parade. She adjusted his cufflinks, smoothed out his black pant legs, and picked off a few particles of dust on his glistening black shoes that left a temporary red imprint on the floor wherever he walked.
"All done," she said proudly as she made one final alteration to his hair, pinning the natural strands out of the way while allowing the dyed ones to hang forth. "What do you think?"
"I think…you may have confused me with Katniss," said Haymitch, standing in awe of himself. "The mockingjay is her token."
"You both are. That was the plan from the moment you volunteered for Peeta. It's a combined effort from the two of you to put the Capitol in its place. You made Katniss what she is, in a fashion, so you have as much of a right and responsibility to wear the feathers as she does."
Portia spun him around to look at her and showed him a button on the inside of his suit pocket. "When Caesar dismisses you, press the button in there and watch yourself be reborn."
In all seriousness, Haymitch grasped Portia's hand now that he wouldn't see her until the following morning before launch. "You and Cinna are absolutely outstanding and braver than most people in the entire nation, but you put yourselves in danger by doing this. Snow can see what you're doing and he'll punish you for it. Don't go with me to the arena tomorrow, don't even go to the interviews tonight. Find Cinna and both of you get out of the Capitol—"
Portia patted Haymitch's cheek and then brought his hands to her lips to kiss them. "We both know the risks, but what we're doing is far less dangerous than what you're planning to do once you get in there. Our job was to make your job as easy as we could and our hearts go with you. Don't even spare a thought worrying about us; we're not important."
"Yes, you are," Haymitch argued, straining to find the right words since this was unfamiliar territory. "To me, you both are…you're part of our team. Family."
He thought he saw a tear or two in Portia's eyes, but with a giant flutter of her neon-yellow eyelashes, they were gone. "A family doesn't let one person take all the risks for everyone else. Everyone contributes; everyone protects each other. So you protect Katniss in there while Cinna and I protect Peeta and Effie out here. We know, Haymitch. We've spoken…" With him. she mouthed, and Haymitch understood.
Plutarch really had thought of everything.
"Now, let's see that infamous scowl," Portia prompted, and Haymitch let his face slide back into disdain as she led him from the room to the elevator.
Instead of lining up by order of interview like previous years, the victors were allowed to mingle and walk around backstage, drinking, eating, talking, and waiting. There were envious stares as Haymitch appeared in Portia's masterpiece, though he didn't see what there was to be envious about since the stylists from other districts had done an equally stunning job in making their tributes glow. It was here that Portia left Haymitch and was replaced with Effie who had reapplied her makeup and wig as she sported a short-cut dress made of an itchy-looking material that had been cut and shaped into patterns of blue and white flames.
She led Katniss into the throng to some audible gasps of jealousy at the layers of black and grey feathers trailing out behind her and ending in artificial flames. As the other tributes stood in awe of Katniss's dress, Effie went to Haymitch and fixed his lapel where he had somehow managed to mess it up already. He held his breath as her fingers touched the bare skin across his chest, wondering if she would bring up what had transpired between the two of them earlier, but it was wishful thinking. She had spent years hiding the hurt she felt from Haymitch's scorn, so a little thing like a kiss would be easy to mask.
"Don't slouch around back here or you'll wrinkle this," she said clippingly. "Sit straight, and don't spill anything."
"I'm upset, Effie, not a sugar-hyped kid," he shot back, but she gave him a gentle slap on the shoulder all the same.
"I'll see you when it's your turn."
"Gloss and Cashmere stand by," called a showrunner and the siblings stepped forward in matching jeweled outfits to follow the man up to the wings of the main stage.
A screen in the last-minute dressing room showed Panem's seal, then a black setting slowly being lit from below in a mixture of blue and yellow lights as an announcer said over the loudspeakers that would carry across the entire block, "Ladies and gentlemen, your Master of Ceremonies, Caesar Flickerman!"
Rapturous applause greeted Caesar as always as the man himself emerged from a platform hidden beneath the stage and raised his arms in greeting to the audience. He took several bows, blew kisses, and then pointed to the mounted stage behind him as a cue that the people should quiet down.
"Ladies and gentlemen, thank you, and welcome to the final night before the 75th Annual Hunger Games and Third Quarter Quell! In mere moments, past victors, beloved champions will grace this stage for the last time and you all will get to wish farewell to all but one of them as we prepare to send them off into the most glorious battle Panem has ever seen."
Beneath his pea-green eye shadow, Caesar's eyes fell to the base of the stage as if searching for words, but his moment of loss was over as quickly as it had come.
"We send our support, our thoughts, and our thanks to these twenty-four victors. Our love is our final parting gift to you, and know that you all were an irreplaceable part of our lives."
The audience cheered, some already beginning to sob for their favorite victors. Caesar was driving them to feel sorrow instead of anticipation and excitement for the mass slaughter about to happen.
"Without further ado, please help me welcome the matching set of victors from District 1, Gloss and Cashmere Bree!"
Haymitch went in search of the buffet table to fill his stomach since he knew he wouldn't be able to eat the following morning, not at all interested in hearing whatever rehearsed speech the siblings had thought up. He snacked on a fruit plate and watched Brutus take the stage wearing a see-through shirt that accentuated his intimidating muscles. Caesar asked him about his strategy now that he would be going in with Enobaria who was his good friend (and though Caesar didn't say it, his former lover). Brutus's responses were short, heavy, and somewhat reserved compared to the insults he had been hurtling at Haymitch all week, and Haymitch suspected it was due to Brutus's realization that he was going to have to kill or be killed by the woman he had fallen for even though she had long since moved on from him.
In an equally revealing dress, Enobaria came after Brutus and kept the conversation centered on her teeth until her interview time elapsed. After her, Beetee spoke about his contributions to Panem over the years and how he wished for more time to create bigger and better devices to assist the nation. Following this first subtle stab of anger at the injustice of the system, Wiress replaced her district partner and looked back around at the mounted dais for help in answering Caesar's questions. Quick to pick up on her unease, Caesar changed his approach and asked yes or no questions that Wiress could easily answer and elaborate on in small phrases.
Finnick made half of the audience swoon when he appeared in a loose, breezy white tunic and close-fitting tan pants with a sash of netted rope hanging around his waist. He spoke to Caesar of his time in the Capitol and how he would miss all the people he had met over the years.
More like all the people who bought him from Snow, all the people he would kill if he could.
After making Caesar promise to go easy on Mags who was to follow, Finnick joined the rest of the interviewed tributes atop the higher stage and to everyone's surprise, threw his arm around Wiress in one of the first displays of out-district unity. Mags had been dressed in a sea-green robe and through a series of hand gestures, managed to convey her thoughts to Caesar who had had all of his life to pick up on her method of communicating. Haymitch appreciated the lengths Caesar had gone to in order to cater to each victor so that the audience could get the best last impression as possible, and by the time he was sending Mags on her way with a hug farewell, Haymitch was certain that the old woman had at least one person willing to sponsor her.
Next came Zelic and Amara together in complimentary outfits of electric blue and yellow so that they looked like small power bursts standing beside Caesar.
"I have to ask about the reaping," said Caesar as he regarded the married couple. "Zelic, you're the only male victor District 5 has ever had, so there was no avoiding your name being drawn, but Amara, you could have let your fellow female victor go into the Games. Instead you volunteered, and you have a child."
"Yes, we have a son, but he'll be well looked after if neither of us make it home," said Amara. "And if he's reaped in the Games to come, having two victors as parents can only help him. It may seem selfish, but our entire district loves him because he helps out at a different factory or store every day even though he doesn't need to because our winnings have never made him want for anything. He's dedicated to giving back to the people who helped keep Zelic and me alive during our Games and in return, our people love him. But I don't think he would have ever forgiven me if I had let his father go off to another arena and not tried to help him in every way I could. The best way I know how to protect his father is to be with him."
There were collective sighs from the audience and though Caesar made a practiced face of sorrow, Haymitch saw through the mask, saw Caesar silently aching for this couple who were some of the only victors to produce offspring under the pretense of never having to worry about the arena again, only to have it backfire on them.
When Demi came out, the showrunner had to practically shove her on stage and even then, she stood staring at the lights above, lost in her own world. Since she and Kilo were not related, he was not allowed to accompany her on stage, so she was on her own. Caesar put his arm around her shoulders, guiding her forward and holding her firmly by his side so that she couldn't wander as he recounted her previous Games to the audience and highlighted her finer moments. He spoke of how she had found a true friend in Kilo and ended with informing the audience that it was her birthday.
Haymitch had no way of knowing if this was true or not, but he silently applauded Caesar's quick thinking as the latter led the viewers in a traditional song of wishing well to the individual born on this day. Zelic came down the steps to guide Demi onto the dais and then Kilo strolled out of the wings, making straight for Caesar and grasping his hand in what was unmistakably a gesture of gratitude.
Keeping the conversation light and avoiding Kilo's time as a morphling addict, Caesar returned the friendliness by reminding the audience that Kilo had turned a needle into a weapon of mass destruction in his previous Games, which was not something the Gamemakers could have foreseen from someone as small as Kilo was when compared to the Career pack of that year. Kilo's stylist had chosen a flowing, silky material that seemed to stretch as Kilo moved so that he looked taller than he actually was, which was no doubt an attempt to give him an edge since he was viewed as one of the weakest if not the weakest male victors in the pool of tributes.
Blight and Johanna had little words for Caesar, both playing out their anger in guarded and boasting responses respectively. Johanna started yelling at one point and Haymitch was sure that Caesar was receiving instructions through his earpiece to get her off stage as quickly as possible, but Caesar let her finish her rant before leaning sideways to whisper a quick word to her that made her angry expression flicker into something else momentarily. She nodded curtly and went to join Blight behind her.
With grace that only Caesar could conjure after such an outburst, he welcomed Tyrek and then Ramie who, like District 1, were less upset about the rules of the Quarter Quell and more intent on reminding potential sponsors that they still had a lot to offer. Tyrek engaged in a verbal battle of wits with Caesar, but as someone with a quarter of a century's practice in avoiding hostile exchanges, Caesar ultimately won out and seemed almost glad to reach Ramie before she moved suggestively toward him and openly began flirting with him. Haymitch had seen this approach from female tributes before, but what so disturbing was that most of them had been teenagers at the time, so though Ramie was closer to Caesar's age than those girls, she was still a sexual predator and Caesar stepped nimbly out of her reach before he sent her up the stairs.
Stele took the stage in a suit of silvery-grey that had a diamond stalk of grain tucked into the lapel. Stele did not humor Caesar's playful banter, answering his questions rudely and with a look of disparagement. Graceful as ever in making the audience respond to a surly tribute, Caesar only meaningfully brought up Olathe in telling Stele to keep her in his sights for as long as he could. Assuring Caesar that that was his one and only goal, Stele ended his interview with the same scowl he had started it with and went to take his place on the dais behind, leaning visibly away from Ramie who was teasing him with words only the two of them could hear.
As the number of victors wandering around backstage dwindled, Haymitch began to fear for the mental sanity of the victors who had troubling pasts that the audience knew all too well, like Wiress, Kilo, and Olathe, but given how Caesar had acted so far, Haymitch had some hope that the record would continue. That didn't stop him from worrying when the showrunner led Olathe to the wings to await her cue. Her assault was sure to be a topic of discussion because it was what Olathe was most famous for, even if the tapes had never been broadcasted (or indeed, confirmed by any media source). It was speculated, gossiped about, and made into even more famous an event than Olathe actually winning her Games.
She stepped out onto the stage in a cream-white gown that reached the floor with a train like a wedding dress. It ended in crystal stalks of grain that tinkled musically with every step she took. Her stylists had chosen something adult, but not provocative. It shielded her by completely covering her from the collarbone down, save for her hands. Her hair had been left down in elegant curls that settled on her shoulders so that she would not feel as exposed. Whether Stele had had a hand in designing her dress or not, Haymitch didn't know, but whoever her stylist was, he had done his homework and taken special care to make her as comfortable as possible in the least comfortable type of setting.
She mounted Caesar's platform with grace, holding up her dress in the front to climb the steps, but when she reached the top, Haymitch found himself holding his breath, for Caesar customarily shook the male tribute's hands and either kissed the hands of the females or simply held onto them as a form of support. Olathe would reject his touch and awkwardness would follow, ensuring that the subject came around to her assault. When she reached Caesar, he took a slight step back and graced her with a deep bow and a sweep of his hand as if to welcome her, but he never extended his hand to touch her.
The cameras turned to Stele and Haymitch saw him give a small sigh of relief as Caesar introduced Olathe and then plunged right into the subject of terrain Olathe felt comfortable with, or what terrain she hoped for this time around. He never once compared her answer to the type of arena she encountered in her first Games. He asked her what strategy she had worked out with Stele since the two of them were the only remaining victors of their district, so mentors consisted of each other. Finally, he invited her to share her fondest moment of being trained by Stele before the buzzer rang and he held her gaze as he wished her good luck and farewell. He had to know that she most definitely would not be coming out of the Games and he hadn't wasted time asking her how she planned to win, only what she planned to do if she made it far enough to have plans. Instead, he had chosen to help her spend her interview in her own mind, recollecting her time with the man who was most devoted to her.
Caesar stood up, backing off once again to display Olathe to the crowd before blowing her a kiss. She stayed just long enough to place both hands to her mouth and return his kiss by extending her arms to him in thanks for not breaching her forbidden subject.
As family members, August and Enid were allowed to share their interview time and like Stele, August seemed intent on shielding Enid from Caesar's questions, though he need not have worried because if Caesar was smart enough to figure out how to avoid the subject of Olathe's humiliation, he would be more than equipped to deal with Enid's questionable victory.
"It's no secret that August here is your uncle, Enid, but would you say that you've become closer to him since your victory, or did you always share this bond?" asked Caesar.
"He was always around while I was growing up," said Enid. "He helped my father care for me and my brothers after my mother died and he doesn't have children of his own, so he was more than happy to help. But since we aren't his immediate family, he couldn't take us to live in the Victor's Village with him. He spent most of his time with us, though, and made sure we never went hungry. And then when I was fifteen, as you know, I was reaped for the 73rd Games and I don't think I would have survived if I didn't have my mentor also be my uncle. A lot of sponsors who paid for my gifts also paid for his during his Games and since they were so impressed with how he won, I think they thought I showed the same promise. Still, I know I owe it to him to be standing here right now, alive, even if it's just for a few more hours. He's still trying to protect me because he could have let the other male victor, Eaton, be reaped and tried to win me sponsors again from the outside, but he chose to come in with me instead. This time, though, I'm going to try and pay back the favor."
"Such devotion, such commitment. I don't know that I've ever seen a stronger family bond," said Caesar, working his voice into a choked up, throaty sound so that the audience would be sure to take part in the sorrowful fact that this family bond was about to be shattered for their entertainment. Caesar knew exactly how to play the audience to cater to the needs of each tribute and by admitting how awful it was that this uncle and niece would now have to battle to the death, Caesar was doing his own part in trying to earn them sponsors.
Caesar dried his eyes and then turned to August. "What do you have to say to that, August?"
"I'd say that she can try to repay the favor, but if I have it my way, she'll be the one walking out of the arena."
Bravo, August.
Many of the tributes had already expressed their dedication to helping their district partners get as far as possible, but August was the first to blatantly refuse to play by the Capitol's rules. He announced it to the world that he would not fight to win or kill for pleasure. He did not plan on coming out alive; but he would do his best to make sure Enid did (or at least, he had to tell the audience this. He couldn't very well admit to aiding Haymitch in ensuring that Katniss was the victor, and neither could Enid).
As Farrow's interview began, Haymitch found himself relieving the pressure from his aching feet by switching his stance from one leg to the other since he had done as Effie instructed and not sat or slouched during the entire interview. Effie shuffled around him, checking him one last time before the cameras found him. He would have liked to tell her to stop her fussing, but nitpicking put her in her element, so he let her be, hoping that his body wouldn't respond to her as it had earlier and make for an embarrassing entrance on stage.
Crescere greeted Caesar with a warm frontal hug, pinching his cheek in a familiar fashion and Haymitch had to turn away from the screen as he recalled that embrace she had held him in before she went off to her final assessment. He felt it in his heart that Crescere would be one of the first casualties of the Quarter Quell even though he so desperately wanted her to be one of the survivors. He would be lying if he said that he wanted them all to survive, especially with how District 1 and 8 had been treating himself and the other victors, and if the victors from those districts had to die for Crescere to make it into the final fourteen, Haymitch would gladly kill them himself. But the Games didn't work that way. Farrow might try to protect Crescere, but she had asked him not to and she would never forgive anyone who got themselves killed defending her.
"I think I'm good now," he said when Crescere's buzzer signaled the end of her interview.
"One last touch," Effie insisted, placing a flower in his breast pocket. He saw the soft edges and gentle golden color and silently asked Effie why this particular flower had been chosen to adorn his suit.
"Katniss and I agreed that primrose was the best token for you to wear for you last interview. She said you would understand why."
After being told that it was partially Katniss's idea, he did.
"You're ready."
Haymitch touched his fingertips to the rose petals and then saw Caesar gesturing at him to call him to the stage. He walked out to louder applause than he remembered coming out to during his first Games, which puzzled him because though he was hoping to win some sponsors, he thought viewers would consider him something of a disappointment when compared to other male tributes. He had failed to put much effort into saving the children of 12 for nearly his entire time as a mentor, which had led to him falling out of favor with the people of Panem after his staggering victory, but he had volunteered for Peeta so that he could leave one of the star-crossed lovers out of the Games and try to make the other half survive until the end, which made the audience love his sacrifice. He had no idea what to expect from these people, so he kept his scowl on, but decided against being as standoffish as the other males who had come before him tonight.
When he reached Caesar, the latter took his hand and raised it into the air, earning Haymitch more applause from the crowded street full of viewers. Perhaps he was imagining it, but the pressure on his hand from Caesar seemed to be full of reassurance, Caesar's secret way of letting Haymitch know that he didn't agree with the Capitol's last-minute rule changing.
"Yes, give it up, ladies and gentleman, for our last male interview of the night, Haymitch Abernathy! Resurrected from the shadows and brought back into the limelight, not by circumstance, but by choice. I have to tell you, Haymitch, that I was short of breath when you stepped up to volunteer for Peeta Mellark because we all know how much easier it is for a younger tribute to fair in the Games and though you're by no means getting on in your years, you're not getting any younger either. You could have played the role of mentor again, but you took the young man's place. Why?"
Finding Peeta in the front row of reserved seating, Haymitch winked at the boy. "Because youth isn't everything and we know Peeta's strength helped him in his first Games, but he's rubbish with weapons and that's where he and I are different."
"Ah, yes, I recall those close-encounters with the Career pack twenty-five years ago. You turned out to be a wild card that year, didn't you? Wasn't your score a 7?"
"Your memory's probably better than mine, Caesar. It was something in that neighborhood, though."
"And look at you now! A whopping 10 at age—well, we'll just fib a little and say that you're in your mid twenties. Who would have guessed that you improved with age? But all that aside, I know Katniss looked both grateful and shocked when you stepped up for Peeta. You're the only person she knows going into these Games, but you know everyone. How do you cope with that knowledge that all these people you know are going into the arena with you?"
This wasn't a question Snow likely would have approved on Caesar's itinerary if the host had been given one, but Caesar never went by script anyway and in asking this question, Haymitch knew for certain that the man's loyalties had changed. Caesar had just opened the gate for Haymitch to let loose his fury.
"It's the hardest thing you can imagine, Caesar. My fellow victors and I have spent years meeting up at the Capitol to send our mentored children into the arena and though we always hope for our district to win, we don't hold grudges against each other if we win or not. We know that we are the victors and earned our right to be here, so we've built on that mutual right and formed something of a family. I can't say that we're all bosom friends, but we do recognize that what we went through was a common struggle and we've turned to each other for comfort when the memories become too painful to think about. Many of us are as close of friends as it's possible to be, closer than some people from our own districts. And having to go into the arena with them, it doesn't make it easier knowing what their strengths and weaknesses are because at the end of the day, I still know them as human beings and I know I have to kill them. Can you imagine that, making friends with people, neighbors, and knowing them for over half of your life and then being told that you have to kill them?"
"I can't imagine," said Caesar quietly, letting Haymitch keep the spotlight in his subdued answer.
"No, I suppose not. But that's the only thing I can compare these Games to. No matter how you look at it, it's going to be the equivalent of a huge family slaughtering each other."
He let the word hang on the air. Slaughter. No one had ever called the Games by what they really were and no censor would have been put over his words because no one expected him to have the guts to say them.
"I have known you since your first Games, Haymitch," said Caesar over the mutterings from the crowd as they contemplated Haymitch's statement, "And though you haven't always been one hundred percent with us, I have still come to know you as a fierce mentor, dedicated to keeping your tributes alive, not for the glory, but for the companionship. You finally found yourself not one, but two fellow victors, and now one of them is going back into the arena with you."
"I'd rather it be me going in than Peeta, I can say that much. I had a life, not a good one, but I had one. I got to see what the world is like, so if I die, and Katniss wins, then at least I'll have made it so that both of them can still get the same opportunity."
Caesar grasped his hand, but then his other hand came up to cup Haymitch's shoulder, giving him a meaningful squeeze and Haymitch saw the giddy Master of Ceremonies disappear, replaced by another human being who recognized the injustice of it all, and couldn't openly agree with Haymitch about it, but wanted Haymitch to know that he regretted it, regretted all the deaths to follow. It was his way of saying sorry because to say the words aloud would mean execution.
"I understand the difficult decisions you're about to face, but something tells me that I need not worry about you doing the right thing. I wish you all the luck in the world, Haymitch, and it has truly been my pleasure to know you these past twenty-five years. Godspeed."
The same terror Haymitch had felt when he realized that Cinna and Portia had incorporated the mockingjay into his and Katniss's costumes washed over him now. He recognized Caesar's rebellious apology, but would others notice as well? Others who could punish him for it? Did Caesar truly know the danger and consequences that followed the words that had just come out of his mouth?
Haymitch let go of Caesar's hand and turned to the stage behind, recalling Portia's words: When Caesar dismisses you, press the button in there and watch yourself be reborn.
He found the button in his pocket, pressed it, and heard cries of alarm from the crowd below as he turned around to face them. His face was displayed back at him from a giant screen suspended between the buildings lining either side of the street and Haymitch saw a nearly invisible mist spray on him, activating the chemicals in the cooling gel Portia had applied and the stencils his prep team had drawn on him. The combined effect was to make his skin look like it was quite literally curdling in flames, but not in a destructive way. The fire became him; he was the fire, from the bottom of his shoes to the tips of his hair which were also moving in a flame-like manner. The corners of his eyes glowed like burning embers, giving light to his irises so that his very eyes appeared to go up in flames before all of Panem.
Caesar was applauding him even as Katniss appeared on stage in her beautiful gown. Peeta and Cinna's combined coaching efforts apparently couldn't make her any more likeable from Haymitch's view, but that was only because he knew the real Katniss and not this façade she was putting on for the cameras. Her humor didn't seem as forced as it had been during the Victory Tour, but she was still struggling to fill up her interview time, so eventually Caesar asked her what it meant to have someone with Haymitch's knowledge helping her instead of having her lover at her side.
"Haymitch is invaluable to me after what he did to save Peeta. If I don't win, I hope he does because as far as I'm concerned, he's definitely earned it this past year after putting up with me. He comes across as someone who doesn't care either way what people think of him, but once you get past that hard outer layer, you find…more. Do you know what I mean?"
"I do, and I agree."
Then the buzzer was sounding again and Caesar was guiding Katniss to the steps where she joined Haymitch, her own intricate flames claiming her bare arms and shoulders so that the two of them stood as fiery mockingjays about to defy the Capitol one last time.
As they had in the Tribute Parade, Haymitch and Katniss linked hands, but then Haymitch felt that it wasn't enough to simply let the world know that he would stick with her to the end. He put his arm around her, determindly gripping her shoulder to tell her that no matter how fiercely they argued or disagreed with one another, he was with her. Up and down the stage, he saw the others following their lead once again. Amara and Zelic clutched each other. August copied Haymitch's gesture as his arm wrapped around Enid. Olathe leaned her head gently against Stele's shoulder. And the others, prompted by this final demonstration of hatred for the Capitol, linked arms with the victors to their left and right until they formed one giant, inseparable chain.
Johanna wrapped her fingers around Tyrek's, Stele took Ramie's hand, Enobaria held tightly to Beetee's wrist and even between victors who had come to despise one another because of those who preyed upon the weak or those who were too selfish to commit to a greater cause, there was a sense of togetherness as they put aside those differences to face the cameras one last time.
Frightened by this demonstration of unity, but still outraged at the Capitol's supposed rigging of the Games, the audience burst into shrieks of despair, calling for an end to the Games. Amidst the chaos, Caesar Flickerman turned around to face the victors, nearly all of them friends and acquaintances who he had sent off to their first Games, and now their last. He found Haymitch and touched a finger to his own temple, then extended his hand in Haymitch's direction as a gesture of farewell.
His pea-green hair caught the light seconds before the stage was plunged into darkness.
Haymitch kept hold of Katniss and hurried down the steps, lifting her to carry her so as to escape the crowd and chaos in one piece. At the entrance to the elevator, he saw Peacekeepers beginning to detain Demi who was looking lost and panicked without someone to guide her.
"Hey, let go of her!" Haymitch hollered, setting Katniss down.
"She's a danger to herself and others if left alone," one Peacekeeper stated.
"She's not alone; she's with us, and her district partner is already on their floor, so she'll be just fine once she gets off of the elevator."
"You realize that you've made the president extremely angry?" said another Peacekeeper and Haymitch found himself grinning at the proclamation.
"That's what I was aiming for. Now, unless you want to take my place in the Games, I'd suggest letting me through so I can get a good night's rest before I die tomorrow."
His sarcasm won the day and taking Demi's hand in his free one, Haymitch guided her onto the elevator, jamming the button to make the grilles slide shut. On the ride up, he could see the darkened street below with tiny white lights bobbing about as the people stumbled around trying to find one another. On the sixth floor, Haymitch helped Demi step off and called to an Avox to tend to her until Kilo could return.
Once in the safety of the top apartment, Haymitch ran to switch on their screen to see if any reruns were being broadcasted, but an annoying loop of an announcer saying that the network was experiencing difficulty was the only thing to be found. He had just turned the thing off when Peeta and Effie arrived, both rushing to Haymitch and Katniss with concern.
"We thought you'd been arrested, or worse," Effie fretted.
"No point in doing that when they can make execution look like an accident for entertainment," said Haymitch with a shrug. "But they'll be coming to make sure you're gone, Effie, so you should leave before you're forced to."
Effie nodded and hugged Katniss to her, expressing how proud she was and other blubbery nonsense so that Haymitch had a moment to pull Peeta away and speak in an undertone to him.
"Listen, kid—"
"I'll never be able to repay you, if she somehow survives this—" Peeta began.
"Yes, you will. You'll start by making sure our team is out of the Capitol before noon tomorrow. Cinna, Portia, the prep teams, anyone who worked on us. Get them out, I don't care how, but do it, because you know Snow is going to punish anyone affiliated with us after what we just did for the whole nation to see. The Games will happen fast, and however it ends, you make sure you're not here for it."
"But if Katniss wins—"
"When Katniss wins," Haymitch corrected. "When it's time, you'll know what I mean, but you promise me after the tenth tribute goes down, you're gone. You get out of here and take anyone with you who's willing to leave. And don't you dare let Effie out of your sight, because I won't let Katniss out of mine."
"Haymitch, what are you talking about? After—"
"Is when you'll understand. Just promise me."
"Okay…yeah, sure, but—"
"Good."
Haymitch left no time for Peeta to say more because at any moment, he knew they were going to be interrupted by Peacekeepers or some other form of security and they should not say anything else concerning "after".
Effie had dried her eyes on Katniss's dress and now approached Haymitch.
"So this is it?" she said, failing to adopt that optimistic tone she had never before failed to achieve.
"Yeah, this is it."
She put her arms around him, but thankfully refrained from kissing him, because if she had tried, he knew he wouldn't have been able to say goodbye after.
"Thank you," she whispered into his shoulder. "Thank you for letting me in…at the end. Goodbye, Haymitch."
And then she was gone, leaving the three victors of District 12 to stand in silence in her wake.
"Can we stay with you?" asked Katniss, holding Peeta's hand.
"It seems it's the only way we'll be able to get through the night."
They went to Haymitch's room, set up the bed in the same way they had done two nights ago, and turned on the forest soundtrack. Haymitch heard gentle breathing about two hours after they had turned off the lights, but he lay awake, recalling the doomed decision from the Master of Ceremonies as he took the victors' side before the broadcast cut out.
|I realize that I put the interviewees in the wrong order with the male going before the female. I've committed worse crimes, and since the entire Quarter Quell was to punish Katniss, it seemed fitting to make her go last to remind her and everyone else why they were once again in the Games.|