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Locusta – IV
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In the morning, a sharp rap at the door startles Katniss into consciousness. "Big day, Katniss," Gallum says, his voice disinterested and muffled by the wood. "Better get out of bed."
"Go away," Katniss groans irritably.
Prim, who is wide awake at this hour, leans back against the headboard with her notebook in hand. She smacks Katniss with the side of her foot. "Thank you, Gallum," she calls, though Katniss thinks he's already gone.
Prim frowns down at her. "What?" Katniss asks blearily, rolling out of bed. "He's useless. It's the first time I've seen him in days."
"You've been up here for days. On the twelfth floor."
"Doesn't change the fact that he's been too busy comparing tributes with his friends to hang around the Training Center much. Even Effie thinks he's worthless."
Prim, who has much more respect for Effie than Katniss does, seems slightly mollified. At any rate, she hums in agreement as she slips out of bed. "Even so."
They dress haphazardly in fresh clothes from the drawers, Katniss tucking her blouse into a pair of brown pants and Prim pulling on a tunic dress. Today, their stylists and prep teams will have their way with them, so there's no point in dwelling on their attire. Prim fidgets anxiously as Katniss brushes out and braids her hair into two long plaits. When she is finished, Katniss drops a kiss on the crown of her sister's head.
"We'll be alright. Especially you. This is where you'll shine."
Prim nods but says nothing, just studies her own pale reflection in the mirror before turning away.
They leave the bedroom and follow the clamor that has arisen from the living area in the last few minutes. A few members of the prep team dance animatedly around Peeta, dragging him toward the elevators for his makeover.
The man who must be Prim's stylist waits for her in a chair. He wears a simple, dark shirt that complements his acorn-brown skin. His eyes light up as they enter the room. "Prim! And you must be Katniss." He holds out a hand for her to shake. "I'm Prim's stylist. Cinna."
Katniss takes it. His grip is firm, and as she leans in, she notices the only makeup he wears is a bit of golden eyeliner to bring out the flecks of green in his eyes. "Well, you're the most normal-looking person from the Capitol I've seen the whole time I've been here," she says bluntly.
Cinna laughs. "We are a colorful bunch, aren't we?" Turning, he tugs at one of Prim's braids lightly. "This is a good, playful style. It'll work well with your dress."
A jolt runs through Katniss. "You set my sister on fire!" she remembers, flabbergasted.
Cinna laughs again, and it has an odd, musical quality to it. "I apologize," he says finally. "If I'd have known it would send you into such a panic, I might have…well, no, I still would have done it. Prim looked lovely, and you caught a lot of attention with that stunt."
"Still," Katniss grinds out grudgingly.
"Well, then, I suppose it's only fair to warn you that some of your sister's dress for today will be on fire again. Don't put her out." He winks.
Prim is grinning up at her, and Katniss fights back a smile in spite of herself. "I'll try."
"Also, you might be interested to know that Jacara and I have collaborated a little on the designs of your gowns this evening. It's not something stylists often have the chance to do in this stage of the competition, since tributes are rarely so closely allied at this stage, but we thought it might be appropriate to show the connection between the two of you."
"Oh! What are they like?" Prim asks.
"You'll have to wait and see like everyone else," Cinna replies mischievously. He turns to Katniss. "If you don't mind me stealing your sister away? I'm sure Jacara is looking for you by now."
Katniss nods hesitantly, squeezing Prim's shoulder, and then she heads for the elevator.
On the third floor, Jacara is pacing anxiously, her long blue curls fluttering behind her as she walks. "There you are!" she exclaims as she lays eyes on Katniss, who has the sudden sensation of being sized up for consumption by a mountain lion before she is dragged off to the prep team.
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Over the next few hours, Katniss is again ruthlessly bathed, scrubbed, plucked, painted, moisturized, and more—How can there possibly be more to do after the first time? she wonders—with nary a mirror in sight.
After the prep team is finished attacking Katniss, Jacara babbles about the evening's dress. "I would have done you up in this beautiful, flowing gown that matches your chariot outfit perfectly, with a few geometric patterns to evoke the headpi—ah, the wingpiece. After all, a strong link between designs is so refreshing. But I suppose Cinna had a point," she sniffs. "Connections areimportant."
The dress is deep grey, sleeveless, with no frills or soft curves, at least from what Katniss can see before she is stuffed into it. "Besides," Jacara continues, "I suppose you belong more to District 12 than to District 3, anyway. And I heard from your mentors that something soft and flowing won't suit you—you needed something commanding. Hard."
She holds out a jacket for Katniss to slip on, and then she finally drags her over to the mirror.
Standing before Katniss is a bold-looking girl whose deep grey dress falls to her knees. Fiery red sparks across the bottom of it, swirling around the hem and creeping up her right side. The dress is covered by a black leather jacket, one with rigid shoulder pads and gleaming gold buttons. With her hair pulled out of her eyes and a smudge of mascara for a polished, no-nonsense look, the girl staring back at Katniss appears dangerous. Threatening. Fearless.
"It's gorgeous," Jacara titters, clapping her hands exuberantly. "Bit of a rush job, to be honest, but I suppose I'm used to it with you now. Besides, it's what I do."
"This is perfect," Katniss says honestly, turning a little to watch the red details shimmer like embers in the light. "Thank you."
Jacara beams, taking Katniss's hands in hers. "Sweetheart, I know we haven't gotten the chance to know each other over the past few days, but I'm certain you'll make sparks tonight."
Her bubbly, teary expression takes Katniss aback—Is that actual emotion? Are tears even allowed? And then she's gone, belting out orders for the prep team to pack everything up for the day. Katniss watches them dart around the room for a moment and then heads toward the elevator to find Prim.
Beetee cuts her off before she can leave the prep team station. "Straight to the arena, Katniss," he says apologetically, watching Saneer's stylist fret over the collar of his suit. "I think you two are close to last. We're running late."
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The path to the interview is dark, lit only by pinpricks of light on the ground directing Katniss toward the stage. She can faintly make out the some of the other tributes, minus Prim, already seated in their semicircle. Down and to her left, the audience roars and gushes like some black, twilit sea. She finds the fifth seat empty and settles down in it, closing her eyes and breathing deeply to calm her nerves. A few minutes pass in relative silence, broken only by the periodic shuffling of feet as the other tributes arrive, stumbling in the darkness in search of their seats, and the hum of murmured conversation from over her shoulder, where the stagehands prepare for the spectacle.
As the appointed hour nears, anticipation thickens in the air, a collective sort of fidgeting and anxiety. A faint rustle comes from Katniss's right. "Don't screw it up, big sister." Clove's voice is amused.
Katniss might normally have bitten out a response, but tonight, focused as she is on the task ahead, she can only think with surprising certainty, She's the first person I'm going to kill.
And then the lights are up, blinding Katniss momentarily. Even under their harsh beams, she can't make out much past the first few rows of the audience. The faces become dimmer and dimmer, fading into the blackness at the back of the theater, but by the sheer volume of the excited cheering, she feels as though the space might stretch on forever, full of people craning to see the distant faces of the tributes splashed across enormous screens.
Suddenly, Caesar Flickerman appears from the relative darkness of stage right, his bright blue hair electrifying under the spotlights as he flashes a gleaming, personable smile. His presence makes everything seem surreal to Katniss, who can remember watching his commentary during live feeds of the Games for as long as she can remember. "Welcome to the 74th annual Hunger Games!" Caesar cries exuberantly. The roaring applause has barely died down before the announcer dives into the show, orienting the audience by reminding them of the events of recent Games (a seven-year winning streak for the Career districts, naturally) and warming them up with a few jokes that Katniss doesn't understand, things she assumes one would only understand after living in the Capitol for years, or at least long enough to be familiar with the intricacies of wealth and fashion.
Katniss takes advantage of the opportunity to crane her head for a look at Prim. Her sister wears a light grey dress, and as the camera pans across the tributes, Katniss sees feathery details done in a subtle flower pattern. The color and texture make her look like a pale turtledove, but the hem of the dress flows with an array of fiery reds and golds to match the theme of Katniss's outfit.
Prim catches her eye, smiling shyly. Katniss returns the smile.
On cue, the girl from District 1, Glimmer, slinks forward in a revealing dress, and tonight's program settles into its main focus. Katniss tries hard not to listen to the interviews, because allowing the witty, confident remarks to dislodge her own confidence will be a hard thing to spring back from. Even the other Careers have polished their strategies for the interview: Marvel is cocky and a little blunt, Clove's sly humor earns a few surprised laughs from Caesar, and Cato is strangely good-humored and exuberant.
Before Katniss has much of a chance to worry at all, it is her turn to climb down to the center of the stage and take the seat across from Caesar under the bright lights.
"Katniss Everdeen!" he announces to the crowd, which cheers and applauds wildly. "Katniss Everdeen, everybody! Katniss, how are you?"
"I'm better now, Caesar," she hears herself saying meekly. No, she scolds, be bold. Be powerful. Then, in a firmer tone: "I'm finally back with my sister."
"Ah, your sister!" Caesar exclaims. "Boy, you caused quite the ruckus back at the Chariot Parade, didn't you? Were you excited to see her?"
"Actually, I thought she was on fire," Katniss admits bashfully. "My first thought was—oh my God, I'm going to kill whoever set my sister on fire!"
Caesar belts out a laugh, the audience joining in. "Oooh, I hope the stylists know they'll need to look out for you," he chuckles, winking at Katniss. She realizes that the cameras have shifted to show Cinna's face onscreen. The stylist smiles good-naturedly back.
"Oh, he's been forgiven," Katniss blurts, just to say something. "He did a great job with my sister's dress. Even her dress tonight looks incredible."
Abruptly, the cameras pan to Prim, who looks surprised and flustered under the spotlights. She recovers well, folding her arms gracefully across her waist and shooting Katniss a smile. "Well, doesn't she, folks?" Thunderous applause rains onto them, a few whistles sounding from the darkness. Caesar nods at the audience, his smile gleaming, and then he waves an arm to settle them down. Obediently, they quiet, their expectant hunger focused on the stage. On Katniss. "We'll have to get her thoughts on the dress later, but for now, I think we've all got questions for you, Katniss. I have to say, transferring districts to fight alongside your sister? Not something we've ever seen before. And with only one of you as the winner, what was your thought process behind the decision?"
Katniss has been expecting this question, though she has never needed to rehearse the answer. "If either of us wins, it'll be Prim," she replies instantly. "That was my only thought. I love her more than anything in the world, and I'm going to do everything I can to make sure she stays alive to the end, or else I'm going to die with her."
A tremor of whispered murmurs rustles from one end of the audience to the other. "Such bravery," Caesar murmurs. "Such courage. Does Prim know this is your plan?"
Katniss looks behind them toward her sister. Prim meets her gaze, anxiously leaning forward as though she might surge to her feet. "I've never told her aloud," she admits. "But I know she knows why I'm really here. She knows me well enough to guess. I've done things like this before." This is the part Katniss has rehearsed, the place where she hopes she will be able to lead the interview down the path she has chosen, and she leaves the statement hanging for Caesar to grab.
To her great relief, he does—perhaps sensing the intriguing appeal of allowing such a heavily scrutinized tribute to say what she will. "What sorts of things, Katniss?"
"Well," Katniss begins slowly, pausing as though she is considering whether or not to answer. It's only a beat of silence, but in that moment, the air grows still and breathless. Katniss can almost feel the eyes of hundreds of thousands of people, not just here in the Capitol but back home as well. In that moment, she can feel the anticipation of the people from her district—the weight of Gale's gaze. The weight of her mother's.
Prim's jaw is clenched, and Katniss turns away from the worry and reproach in her sister's face. "Well, this is another story I've never told her out loud." She clears her throat. "So. Things are really hard in District 12. Not like here, like in the Capitol. In the area where I live, there's not always enough food or money to go around. Especially in families like ours, where Prim and I have school and can't work, and our mother hasn't done much work since our father died in a mining accident. Making ends meet is hard enough most of the year. But when the winters come, we don't always have the supplies and the clothes we need to make it through."
Caesar nods his head sympathetically, but Katniss knows this is old news here in the Capitol. Being poor and cold and starved isn't enough to grab the attention of the Hunger Games' average viewer, who sees poverty as a necessary evil endured by the descendants of rebels. Katniss takes a deep breath to start putting nails into her own coffin. "Three years ago, three winters ago, we were so desperate that my friend and I caught as much game as we possibly could to sell it to the Peacekeepers—not legal, strictly speaking," she adds, holding up a finger to Caesar.
The announcer pantomimes zipping his mouth shut, earning a few chuckles from the audience. Briefly, Katniss wonders how much trouble the Purnia and her unit will be in for this story—the offense seems minor to Katniss, at any rate—but she doesn't have time to linger on the thought for long.
"We needed the money soon. Snows were coming in, and we were short on supplies—food and firewood. The house was so cold at that point that we could barely sleep even when all three of us huddled in one bed together. And so we split up to sell all of the game fast, Prim and my friend and I. Things are bad even for the authorities in our district, so our Peacekeepers are mostly on hard times, too. They usually look the other way or buy straight from us, so we're used to dealing with them. That day, though, we didn't know that there were visiting Peacekeepers from the Capitol to help with that year's Census—they all look the same in uniform, so there's no way…" Katniss swallows, shaking her head. "And when Prim tried to sell to them, they strapped her to the post in the center of town and gave her thirty lashes. No warning, no…we didn't even know what happened right away. All we knew was that she never came home; we looked for her all night. They'd thrown her in jail without even giving her medical attention. She stayed there for one week. For selling game."
Katniss takes a deep, steadying breath to gather her thoughts, thinking of the scars that still run across her sister's back from the lashes.
When her pause becomes too long, Caesar fidgets. "What happened next? What did you do?" he asks urgently, his face focused and earnest as though he is simply a good friend enraptured by her story.
Looking down at her lap, Katniss closes her eyes. At some point, her hands balled themselves into fists, and she tries to relax them now. No going back after this, she tells herself. Squaring her shoulders, she looks Caesar in the eye. "I killed them," she says bluntly. "For what they did to her."
All at once, the audience is wholly silent. Nothing stirs in the dark, gaping void offstage, but Katniss can feel them gaze upon her as one. The words come more easily now, maybe because she's never spoken them aloud before—not even to Gale, though she knows he's guessed—and they bubble up to her throat so she can spit them out. "I shadowed them for a day or two and started to ask around about them. Nothing much ever happens in twelve, and visitors to the district from anywhere, especially the Capitol, always draw attention and gossip. So it wasn't hard to pick up information while I was trying to figure out how to…well. They were pretty hooked on Morphling, or so the rumors said. That's hard to come by outside of the Capitol. We don't have any of it in District 12. Not even for our sick." That injustice has always put a foul taste in Katniss's mouth, but tonight, she casts her rant aside for the sake of the story.
"My mother's an apothecary. She mixes what herbal remedies she can manage with the plants that grow in our district. Prim's usually the one who helps with the herbs and medicines, but since she was…in poor health, some of the tasks fell to me." And that's when she'd gotten the idea. Katniss can remember it now, that dark moment of sorting through the cupboard of vials and tablets and dried leaves as the thought struck her and she stilled in their empty kitchen. Oleander clasped in one hand, fingers of the other skimming over the tops of all the things her mother has warned her to administer only in small doses: pennyroyal, hemlock, foxglove, nightshade. Belladonna.
"My mother had used belladonna that year to treat a stomach sickness that passed through the district, and we still had a lot of it. Belladonna's used a lot as a sedative and painkiller. For a few other things as well. But it's also the most poisonous plant that grows around my home, along with nightlock. Eating only one or two berries can have you fighting for your life. A leaf can kill you. I brought what we had to them, a mixture of mashed berries and roots and leaves. And I told them it was the only drug we had in District 12, but you had to take enough of it." She laughs hollowly. "I'm sure if they'd known I was related to Prim, they might have thought twice about taking it. They were suspicious at first, I think, but I made it sound like a bribe, like I just wanted them to look the other way for something I'd done. They laughed and took the belladonna. Told me to get lost, but I hung around to wait. It took a long time." For a moment, Katniss sees their faces slackened in dizziness and delirium, eyes wide and dilated. She'd stood near the door for over an hour to make sure they were dead, too afraid to go near them. Watching their breathing ease and then stop altogether.
"I don't think my mother was ever aware enough of what was happening to suspect me at all," she adds bitterly, "but I know the rest of the district guessed. No one ever said as much, but by the time they finally sent Prim home, no one was coming to us for treatments anymore. No one would turn me in for it, and I made sure there was no way to connect me to any of it, but all of a sudden there was no money coming in for our mother's remedies anymore. No one wanted anything to do with us. I meant to finish the Peacekeepers off for what they did, to get rid of them and be done with it, but we almost starved because of it."
The stares of the audience feel a lot like the stares from the people of twelve, closed off and wary, like someone fearing that an animal might strike. Ever since she killed those men, Katniss has always hated having people stare at her like that.
Caesar has forgotten himself. He gapes at Katniss as well, his blue-tinted lips flung open in a shocked O, the microphone dangling loosely in his hand. His expression is strange enough—and she is anxious enough—that she can't help the laugh that escapes. He jolts back to life instantly, returning to his role.
"My dear girl," he says, flustered. He smoothes down his lapels, glances at the audience with wide eyes in a Did you hear what just I heard? sort of way. "My dear girl, what can you mean by telling us this story, and telling your sister, if you've never told her?"
"She knows, I think," Katniss replies. After her sister was released from the holding cell in District 12, no doubt having heard a wealth of gossip in the Peacekeeper Station about what had happened, Katniss periodically caught Prim staring at her with an odd, measuring expression when she thought Katniss wasn't looking, as though she couldn't quite comprehend the stranger standing where her sister used to be. "But like I said, I mean for Prim to win the Hunger Games. That means I won't make it out alive. And by telling this story, there's no getting out alive for me. If I win, I'll be executed for what I've done.
"But the reason I told you," she adds, and for just a heartbeat, she catches sight of herself on the television screen, her dark eyes flashing and set in a defiant gaze as though some otherworldly, powerful being has taken her place, "the real reason I said it is because I want people to know that I'll do anything for my sister. I'll kill for her. And I'll die for her."
For the first time since the cameras first panned to her sister, Katniss looks at Prim. Katniss hadn't known what to expect, but her sister's gaze is both shaky and fierce. She clutches the armrests of her seat as though she might fling herself out of it if she lets go for even a second, her eyes narrowed with restrained tears.
Katniss jumps minutely as Caesar takes her hand in his, but he holds her gaze steadily. "It takes a lot of courage to do what you're doing, Katniss," he says, the audience still clinging to his every word. Just offstage near the wings, a cameraman is waving frantically at him. Out of time. In everyone's distraction, Katniss's story must have earned her an extra few minutes on screen. "And I think it's safe to say we've never had a tribute quite like you. If this is indeed the last time we'll all be seeing you outside of the arena, we'll all wish you the best of luck with your sister."
The applause rips into Katniss's very bones, thrumming through her body. As the audience roars unintelligibly, she murmurs a "Thank you" to Caesar, who drops a kiss on top of her hand as she stands.
And then it's over. Once she reaches the safety and relative darkness of her seat, it takes her a few minutes to calm her racing heart. Away from the cameras, she can feel the agitated flush fading from her cheeks and chest, her breathing beginning to level off as if she is recovering from a long-distance run. If she allows it, she'll begin to pick apart her own words and sink into a mire of worried self-criticism. Even now, she has a hard time avoiding the cynical thoughts: Did I earn us more sponsors or more attacks from the other tributes? Did telling that story just spell our deaths?
To distract herself, Katniss forces her mind to focus on the other tributes' interviews, concentrating on gleaning whatever useful knowledge she can from their words. Some of the other tributes venture into stories of their past, and others cockily brag of their proven abilities. But nothing earns the dizzying response Katniss's story has. She can almost see the faint signs of doubt in them, deflated shoulders and tense expressions. If Katniss weren't so anxious herself, she might have relished the thought of having shaken the others with her story, which will obviously be the focal point of pre-Game debates in the Capitol. Instead, her heel taps relentlessly against the floor as the spotlight slowly moves down the line of tributes toward Prim.
The last few interviews seem to rush past quickly. There's a girl with a sly, fox-like face and sleek red hair who talks about analyzing the situation and a boy from District 10 who plays up a recent leg injury. And then there's Prim tiptoeing down to center stage, her little grey dress boots clinking like glass against the floor.
She settles into the seat, smiling beatifically at Caesar, her dress fluffing around her waist and legs like the down of a bird.
"Primrose," Caesar says. "It's lovely to have you here, and—my goodness, but you look just like your sister. Don't they look just alike, folks? Aren't they both lovely?"
A round of applause rains upon them. Katniss sees her face splash upon one of the screens beside Prim's. While comments like this are familiar to them both, they have never been able to perceive the physical similarities others see in them.
"Now, Prim. It must be—well, I don't know, exhilarating, frightening, wondrous, horrible—to have your sister here with you. Take your pick. Can you tell us what you're feeling?"
"Well, to be honest, I was angry at first," Prim admits in a small voice, "because I didn't want her to get hurt. But really—and it's awful of me, but—I'm really glad she's here. I don't think I could do this alone." She's already close to crying; Katniss can tell by the waver in her voice. Still, she thinks the signs of misery are somehow appropriate here, with the audience clinging to Prim's every word. Prim turns teary eyes to Caesar. "Isn't that so selfish?"
"I think it's understandable," Caesar replies, gently taking her hand. "Wouldn't you agree?" he asks the audience. The audience coos and offers scattered applause, melting under Prim's candor.
"Do you agree with your sister's strategy?" Caesar asks quietly. "Do you think you'll be the one to win?"
"I don't know. I'm afraid, and—I don't want to win if I'm all alone." She chokes back a sob, cupping a hand over her mouth. "I don't know what will happen."
"Your birthday recently passed, didn't it? I'm told you're one of the youngest tributes we've ever had. I imagine it's very terrifying to be in your position."
Prim nods, swallowing. "But it's also…" she pauses, considering. "If I do die, I'm glad it's with Katniss. It's hard to explain—if I'd been all alone, I'd have been terrified. But having her here makes it easier, because my last days will be good ones if I'm with her. I'm glad we can spend our last days together instead of dying apart and alone."
These words ring true with Katniss, and she knows the words are genuine—the sentiment, anyway. She also knows with certainty that her brilliant Prim is still calculating, still thinking through her tears and picking the words that will help them most.
"You and your sister are quite dedicated to each other," Caesar offers. "But tell me, Prim, were you aware of how far your sister has gone for you? It's rare for us to hear such sinister secrets being spilled onscreen—it's happened only once before that I recall, and the consequences were quite dire."
Prim nods again, and this time her expression is steady as she confirms what Katniss has always guessed. "I knew from the beginning. I know Katniss—she didn't have to tell me. I just knew."
"Have you ever thought of her any differently?"
"Never," Prim swears. "Not once." A knot in Katniss's chest loosens.
"Even with the terrifying things she's done for you?"
Prim shakes her head. "After it happened, I used to think about what it would be like if she was hurt and not me, and I'd wonder if I could go through with it. I was never sure if I could, and I still don't know. Maybe I'll never know unless I'm in a situation like that. But that's Katniss, and she can do something like that. That's who she is. And that's fine. Sometimes, when you're family, you'll do anything for each other, because you love each other that much."
Caesar takes the opportunity to get in a joke. "I don't know about you," he mutters confidentially to the audience, "but my family wasn't as devoted as all that!"
The audience bursts into surprised laughter, but when it settles, Prim is still staring at Caesar with her unfathomable blue eyes. "Maybe you have the wrong kind of family," she responds.
Caesar chokes, half in laughter and half in shock. "Maybe I do," he murmurs in agreement. "You and Katniss truly share something special. Beauty and love, that's what I say—" The man at the wing is motioning again, a single finger held in the air for Caesar to see. "And speaking of beauty, we'll have to end with your lovely dresses. I'm loving the matched theme—grey from electronics and fire from coal, I imagine. And I suppose your stylist has hidden another surprise?"
He bounces in excitement, and Prim smiles at him. "He did. Do you want to see it? I think Katniss won't worry so much this time."
In response to that, Caesar laughs. "Please!"
Prim is on her feet. "Ready?" she inquires, suddenly playful.
"Are we?" Caesar asks the audience. An answering roar rushes over them, and once it has reached a sufficient volume level, Prim begins to twirl gracefully, her braids swinging in the air as she spirals. The bottom of her dress sparkles and flurries in red-orange flame, just enough to ripple up to her waist and flicker as she comes to a stop.
"I like the fire," Prim adds to Caesar before he can make some remark on her appearance, "because it makes sense for us. We not seem like much at first, but fire's catching. Turn your back on us, and you might regret it."
She smiles at Katniss while the audience applauds with renewed fervor, a strange tension in the air following the bold statement. Katniss returns the smile. You and me, Prim, she thinks. Whatever happens, we'll stick together to the end.
Her back straight and proud, Prim accepts Caesar's customary peck on the back of her hand and sweeps back to her seat to make way for the final interview. She is too polite to slump in her chair, but Katniss can almost see the exhaustion rolling from her sister in waves, as if the conversation has taken something vital from her. After some sort of unremarkable interview from Peeta, Caesar climbs to his feet for the last time that evening to bid the audience good night and happy Hunger Games.
And then it's really over.
The chandeliers above the crowd brighten just a bit to allow the excitable audience to leave their seats, but the stage lights dim, the cameras stilling and the screens fading to black. Katniss closes her eyes. She takes a moment to reflect on the fact that all of the political games and subtle struggles are finally over. Tomorrow, it will be her and Prim alone in the arena fighting for their lives.
After a few minutes, a heavy, warm weight falls upon her. Prim hugs her shoulders, squeezing into the extra space on Katniss's seat. "Was I okay? Do you think we did okay?" she asks.
Katniss runs a hand down the ridges of her sister's braids. "You were brilliant. And we're going to get a boatload of sponsors who love you."
Prim is silent for a moment. Then she takes a slow breath. "I meant what I said. I don't know what's going to happen, if one of us is going to live or not, but I think I'm okay with dying there with you. I mean," she laughs a little hysterically, her voice sounding weary, "I'd rather not die, but if we have to, I think I'm okay with it being like this."
"Me too," Katniss replies, tucking Prim down so she can rest her chin on the crown of her sister's head.
The clamor of the audience trickles away as people stream through the doors and into the quiet night of the outside world. A whir of machinery above suggests the movement of cameras and lights as they retreat into their hiding places. Footsteps of cameramen and stagehands patter from one wing to the other.
In a moment, someone will tell the Everdeens to follow the trail of tributes heading back to the elevator, but for now, Prim is motionless in her sister's arms.
"Tomorrow, we're going to fight," Prim says quietly, as though this is a new idea for her.
Katniss squeezes her shoulders tightly. "You bet we are."
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End of Part II, Locusta
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The most notorious and expert character of this kind [of poisoner] is handed down to us by the historians and poets under the name of Locusta, who was condemned to die on account of her infamous actions, but was saved in order that she might become a state engine…She was accordingly employed to poison Claudius by Agrippina, who was desirous of destroying the Emperor…
-Annals of Philosophy, Volume 7 (1824)
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A/N: And so finally we get to see the source of Katniss's change to a more overprotective and bitter sort of character than the one in the books. I really wanted to play with Katniss's past in this fic, and to have the desperate setting of District 12 shape her into a more calculating and cold sort of person. Luckily, she's using her powers for good to help her sister, of course :-) Do let me know what you thought of her big reveal in the interview—she certainly isn't planning on pulling her punches, either in the interviews or in the arena.
On the poisoning: I don't think belladonna poisoning happens so quickly, as I couldn't find much in the way of timelines online. However, it does appear to be true that a single leaf (or a few berries) can sicken or even kill an adult, so having the Peacekeepers consume all of the Everdeens' stored plants should have done the trick very well, no calculations needed.
On Peeta's interview: I feel I should mention that I did debate having him come forward to express his interest in Katniss back when I was first outlining this story, but I really don't think it would happen with this turn of events. In canon, Peeta points out his interest in her partially (I believe) because of Haymitch's strategy. While he might have said something about Katniss of his own accord without Haymitch, I think that Katniss has made her lack of interest obvious in this fic—not that she doesn't do so in canon, but she also doesn't have an obvious ally in her sister in the book. Also, as stated early on, whatever feelings Peeta obviously has for Katniss, she isn't really going to be in any position to reciprocate romantically. With her obvious strategy in this fic being to fight for Prim's life so they can appeal to the sympathy of the Capitol together, there's no real reason for her to need Peeta's help in playing a role to gain sponsors. That being said, Peeta will be turning up again (obviously, since the cast of characters gets pretty small once they're all trapped in the arena). So be prepared for that!
Next chapter starts part three, the last (and longest) arc of this story. If you've reviewed or favorited, thank you! Let me know what you thought of this chapter too?
Peace,
ket