A/N: This one was a bit rushed to write and I haven't really edited it well, but I figured I'd post it anyways, because I've been doing such a good job updating every three days! Thanks so much to favoriters, followers, and especially reviewers! It really makes my day to get an email saying someone's reviewed. :D

This chapter will sound a lot like what the interviews sounded like in the HG, from Katniss's view. I couldn't really change or add much, because it's mostly talking and watching anyways. And Katniss is very similar to Haymitch anyways, so I figured that they must sort of notice the same things.

Green. Everything is thick, lush and green, emerald and olive and forest. Then there were the flowers, dotting the meadow like drops of blood in all shades of crimson, vermillion and carmine. The wind rustles pleasantly, sounding like the singing of birds. I feel it whistle through my fingers, play with the locks of my hair. And the smell, oh, it smelled of honey and pine, sweet and flavorful. I open my mouth, as if I could taste it on my tongue.

"Ladies and gentlemen, let the Fiftieth Hunger Games begin!"

I gasp, eyes tearing open as I wake. With a flash, my hand is reaching for the knife that is always under my pillow, but it's not there. It's not there? Why? Why? There isn't even a pillow at all. Why isn't it there? Where am I? My fingers claw at the leathery fabric of a couch. I swing my legs off into a sitting position. My senses on hyper-alert, my eyes flick around the room, trying to remember the day before.

"Sorry, you passed out here after a while. I thought it'd be best to just leave you here instead of dragging you back to your room."

"Cinna?" The memories of the previous night come back to me. My hangover finally hits as the adrenaline fades. "Ugh..." I groan.

He appears from his bedroom and deftly offers me a glass of water. "Yes, I thought you might have a hangover. Water? Coffee?"

"A drink," I mutter.

"I don't think that's a good idea." Cinna raises an eyebrow.

"Hmph." I get up and take a look around. "There's no need for me to stay here." I leave before he can really say anything else. I'd heard enough from him yesterday anyways.


I adjust a red bow tie with matching flame cuff links as I wait in front of the elevator. Effie shows up, then Cinna and Portia with Katniss and Peeta. They both look stunning, much as promised, Katniss's features dark and beautiful, skin sparkling, complementing the jewelled dress that throws off flashes of light as she shifts and Peeta looking sharp and handsome in a smart suit with flame accents.

However, Katniss is ignoring me. Whether she is still brewing from our session or whether she just decided to hate me overall I have no idea. Either way, she probably took it better than I did, meaning that she didn't give up and get sloshed.

Thinking on it, why did I get so upset? Katniss's case was already so much better than more or less all of the other tributes I've ever mentored, with her splash at the opening ceremony, her eleven in training, and Peeta's plan. I frown as I realize. I had this irrational (or perhaps not so irrational? a tiny voice asks) hope that Katniss would win. The odds, however, were not in my favor, yet I still hoped? Childish of me, yet I find that I can't seem to persuade myself otherwise.

Katniss evidently isn't only ignoring me. She converses with Peeta, but is rather distant. I wonder how Peeta is doing. His expression reveals nothing, but he glances at Katniss every so often, when he's sure she isn't looking. I remember to make sure to reassure him before he goes on air.

The elevator opens and Effie spirits Katniss and Peeta away almost immediately, worrying about being late. They aren't, of course. Cinna and Portia leave as well, making for the main platform, discussing something quietly. I follow Effie for a while, and wait until she leaves Katniss and Peeta before approaching them and muttering, "Remember, you're still a happy pair. So act like it." I squeeze Peeta's shoulder in slight recognition so he nods.

Making my way back to the main platform I see Cinna, who is watching Katniss carefully. Shrugging, I find the other mentors, already situated in their seats. My seat on the very edge of the row, next to Chaff and Seeder. He gives me a friendly nudge, and tells some joke so I chuckle and nod back, too distracted to really pay attention to anything but the tributes on stage and the cameras all around.
Oh yes, the cameras. There are dozens of them, flitting around, as well as giant screens displaying various views. I find a few of them displaying the crowd, but most are aimed to the Gamemakers, the stylists, the mentors, and the tributes. Yes, the tributes, there's a least one camera for each of them. Maybe even two, although they move around quite often.

I see the Katniss on one. Her features are dazzling and perfect, skin shimmering like satin. But her expression is haunted and fearful, like there's something on her mind that won't let go.
Peeta's face is there too, but he is the exact opposite: smiling and elated, like the entire affair is delighting him. He always glances back at Katniss though, but increasingly, it is getting more obvious. He's setting it up.

The entire City Circle is made of flashing light and white noise, blaring like an unnatural high. Music starts playing as the interview starts and the crowd lowers its volume a notch so that Caesar Flickerman can be heard, but the soft muttering and shifting still sounds like a roar.

Powder blue is Caesar's color of the year, but I hear a reporter commenting that it looks too much like the periwinkle that he wore 5 years ago. "He must be running out of ideas!" she laughs, and a section of the crowd — the section that can hear her — laughs as well, but it blends in with the usual ruckus.
A bit of banter with the audience and the show begins. The ground erupts in cheers as Glimmer, from District 1 walks out in a stunning, provocative, see-through gold dress. They go through a few exchanges and it's just the usual Career Tribute nonsense. Three minutes is up in a flash and it's the District 1 boy who walks up next, in what appears to be an actual silver suit.

The Districts pass in minutes, literally. 2, 3, 4. I try to watch the interviews while keeping track of my two tributes. Katniss is fearful while the boy volunteer from District 2 is trying to show off with brutality. Peeta's expression is calculating as he watches the 12-year-old Career Tribute from District 4 answer questions cockily.

I am fascinated when Hugo, the boy from District 10 goes up for his interview. He is almost shy, in a way. Hawkins, a few seats down from me, watches intently, but there is nothing impressive to watch. Hugo is polite, but quiet, not really appealing to the audience, but not dissuading either.

"Welcome, Hugo!" Caesar starts. "The audience has been raring to see you up here and so have I!"

He nods. "Glad to be here."

"We all know that you've got a victor in your family, and more amazingly, he's even your mentor! What have you got to say to that?"

I raise an eyebrow and glance at Hawkins but his gaze is unwaveringly fixed on Hugo. I hadn't known that. Then again, I don't usually pay much attention to the tributes of the other Districts so the habit hadn't quite settled in yet. So they were related...

"Well my uncle's never really talked to me about how he won his Games..." Hugo's gaze flicks nervously over to Hawkins. "I mean, I've seen it."

"So have we all. It was a stunning and completely new idea. I mean, taming muttations is supposed to be impossible! You going to have a hand at trying that in the Arena?"

"I can't give away my strategy," he says simply.

"Al-right. Then I won't ask."

The rest of the interview is nothing interesting, Caesar trying to make some banter and Hugo answering, but managing to deflect most of the talking over to Caesar. He stays polite though.
The District 10 girl is nothing special, just another scared daughter of a rancher. She tries to come off as witty though, and although she's passable, it's nothing special.

District 11 consists of a tiny, bird-like twelve year old who reminds me of Katniss's sister, whom I remember because I made note of her. I remember her more clearly when her training score of 7 is mentioned. "It's an excellent score for one so small," Caesar remarks.

She nods, the wings on her back fluttering in some unseen wind. She raises a hand to her chest, small fingers clenched in a fist, making the wispy length on the sleeves look like feathers. "I'm very hard to catch," she says in a tremulous voice. "And if they can't catch me, they can't kill me. So don't count me out."

"I wouldn't in a million years," he says encouragingly, and the crowd applauds their agreement.
District 11's male finishes, and then it's Katniss. She stalks onto the stage, nervousness written in her steps. Her eyes scan the raised platform that the mentors and stylists are sitting on as Caesar begins.

"So, Katniss, the Capitol must be quite a change from District Twelve. What's impressed you the most since you arrived here?"

I see her eyes lock on Cinna, and she pauses, tipping her head sideways, thinking. The pause is almost awkwardly long, but she says, "The lamb stew," before it ruins the moment.

My chuckles adds to the audience's. It's passable, but I'm mostly laughing out of nervousness. I quell it.

"The one with the dried plums?" asks Caesar. She nods. "Oh, I eat it by the bucketful." He turns sideways to the audience in horror, hand on his stomach. "It doesn't show, does it?" They shout reassurances and applaud. For a moment, I can only be disgusted by the Capitol but I grudgingly admit that it does help. I suppose that I ought to learn how to be charming like that. Then the thought just revolts me.

"Now, Katniss," he continues, "When you came out in the opening ceremonies, my heart actually stopped. What did you think of that costume?"

"You mean after I got over my fear of being burned alive?"

The audiences laughs. Good. At least she's got something going for her, but I'm not entirely sure what it is. Despite the laughs, I hope it's not just weak humor. I can't earn her sponsors from just humor.

"Yes. Start then."

She looks at Cinna, then back at Caesar and says dazzlingly, "I thought Cinna was brilliant and it was the most gorgeous costume I'd ever seen and I couldn't believe I was wearing it. I can't believe I'm wearing this either." She lifts up her skirt to spread it out. "I mean, look at it!"

The crowd makes admiring noises, but positively screams in excitement when she twirls and the fifty or so blazing lights that are on her are reflected by the jewels, bursting with color, engulfing Katniss in waves after waves of flame. I see Peeta staring at her like he'd never seen her before and had just figured out that she was the most beautiful thing that he'd ever seen.

"Oh, do that again!" Caesar exclaims.

She does, and the audiences just loves it more and more. The picture is burned into everyone's eyes: Katniss, the girl on fire.

But not only the girl on fire now. She is also the girl who makes jokes and giggles and twirls, apparently. What am I supposed to do with that? I just hope Peeta knows what he's doing.

"Don't stop!" Caesar encourages.

But Katniss giggles and clutches onto his arm, saying, "I have to, I'm dizzy!"

He wraps a protective arm around her. "Don't worry," he says reassuringly, "I've got you. Can't having you following in your mentor's footsteps."

The cameras zoom on me, so I smile good-naturedly and wave, pointing them back to Katniss.

"It's all right," says Caesar. "She's safe with me. So, how about that training score. E-le-ven. Give us a hint what happened in there."

Her gaze finds the Gamemakers, who are sitting on the only balcony not occupied by cameras. "Um...all I can say, is that I think it was a first."

The Gamemakers laugh among themselves and nod, sharing a private joke.

"You're killing us. Details. Details."

She addresses the balcony. "I'm not supposed to talk about it, right?"

Plutarch shouts out, "She's not!" Amused, I wonder if he is the Gamemaker who Katniss told us fell into a bowl of punch.

"Thank you," she says. "Sorry. My lips are sealed."

A golden opportunity lost. She could have played that slightly better, but I admit that she gets a little leeway with being nervous.

"Let's go back then, to the moment they called your sister's name at the reaping," Caesar says. The audiences hushes. They have all seen that moment on a screen, but they were all eager to hear what Katniss had to say about it. Some people thought it was touching. Others thought it was strategic. Whichever she chose would be what I had to work with.

"Her name's Prim," begins Katniss, "She's just twelve. And I love her more than anything."
It's so quiet that even as Katniss's voice drops softer and softer every word rings. "She asked me to try really hard to win."

"And what did you say?"

Her eyes narrow, sharpen, and her whole body is tense as if she were frozen. But it's the audience that's frozen when she speaks, her voice low and dangerous.

"I swore I would."

"I bet you did," says Caesar. The buzzer goes off. "Sorry, we're out of time. Best of luck, Katniss Everdeen, tribute from District Twelve."

Her expression is neutral as she seats herself, the applause going on, long and loud.

Peeta is up before Katniss is even settled, and the audience adores him. He is as perfect as he was in practice the day before, flawless in every expression and displaying no signs of nervousness at all, even with hundreds of cameras analyzing every twitch in his face, microphones catching every breath.

He includes the audience, not only allowing, but encouraging them to shout out words and suggestions as he starts with comparing tributes to bread from their districts. They love him. I know his words are not scripted because the wording is different from practice, but he is smooth as if it were.

I don't worry about listening to hard to the introductory things, because I know he's got it down. But I know that time's running out and if Peeta doesn't bring up the subject soon he may not have time for the most important part of the interview.

"Tell me, do you have a girlfriend at home, Peeta?"

Perfect timing. He has a good minute left in his interview. He hesitates, then gives an unconvincing shake of his head.

"Handsome lad like you. There must be some special girl. Come on, what's her name?" says Caesar.

Peeta sighs. "Well, there is this one girl. I've had a crush on her ever since I can remember. But I'm pretty sure she didn't know I was alive until the reaping."

I want to laugh, because I know Peeta's acting for once, but I can't when the audience is making sounds of sympathy. I know he's actually telling the truth, but there's always something about saying it in front of a Capitol audience that makes it sound so fake suddenly. But they lap it up anyways.

"She have another fellow?" asks Caesar.

"I don't know, but a lot of boys like her," says Peeta.

"So, here's what you do. You win, you go home. She can't turn you down then, eh?"

Oh yes she can, I think.

"I don't think it's going to work out. Winning...won't help in my case," says Peeta.

The audience is confused, muttering, trying to figure out what he could possibly mean. I grin. They'll never guess what hit them, and that's why Peeta is brilliant.

"Why ever not?" Caesar asks, asking the question for the audience.

Peeta flushes. I don't think he's doing it on command. "Because...because..." he stammers, "...she came here with me."

And the ball drops.


In an instant, every camera and every light in the City Circle turns to see Katniss's reaction, momentarily blinding the area. And her reaction is perfect. Stunning, really, how well it matches up with Peeta's downcast eyes. Her face is flushed and she stares down at the floor, not daring to look at Peeta. For reasons that the audience doesn't have to know.

"Oh, that is a piece of bad luck," says Caesar, and he sounds genuinely in pain for once. Even the crowd is agitated and confused, murmuring like lost sheep.

"It's not good," Peeta agrees.

"Well, I don't think any of us can blame you. It'd be hard not to fall for that young lady." I can't resist lifting an eyebrow. Honestly? Who in their right mind would fall for Katniss? Hah, I suppose I've already placed all my bets on her. "She didn't know?" Caesar says.

Peeta shakes his head. "Not until now."

Katniss's face finally raises, and everyone can see the dumbfounded look in her eyes, the blush on her cheeks. Every camera fixes on it.

"Wouldn't you love to pull her back out here and get a response?" Caesar asks the audience. The crowd screams their assent. "Sadly, rules are rules, and Katniss Everdeen's time has been spent. Well, best of luck to you, Peeta Mellark, and I think I speak for all of Panem when I say our hearts go with yours."

The crowd dissolves into cheering and crying and plain, deafening, roaring. I sigh. Peeta's plan has been put into motion. Now to see the result, and I'm not sure he is going to like it.


The elevator doors open, and we are all getting ready to spring upon the two tributes with praise and congratulations, when the scene really sinks in.

Peeta is sitting in the narrow hallway amidst a pile of broken shards, fake flowers scattered around him. A steady puddle of crimson is running from his hands where he's propped himself up so that he didn't land on the bits of pottery completely. But it is his eyes, full of hurt and betrayal that anger me the most.

Katniss is standing over him, chest heaving like she's just run for miles. The "cornered stray cat" look is on her face again. She stumbles backwards a bit in surprise as we all appear.

"What's going on?" says Effie, slightly hysterical. "Did you fall?"

"After she shoved me," Peeta says blandly. The hurt is gone, but I see his mask up again. Effie and Cinna help him up.

"Shoved him?" I growl, turning on Katniss.

"This was your idea, wasn't it? Turning me into some kind of fool in front of the entire country?" she spits back.

I don't have time to answer cuttingly as Peeta says, "It was my idea. Haymitch just helped me with it." He pulls a shard of blue and white pottery from his hand, wincing as it causes a fresh flow of blood. Effie squeaks in alarm and pulls away.

"Yes, Haymitch is very helpful. To you!" she says.

"You are a fool," I say, "Do you think he hurt you? That boy gave you something you could never achieve on your own."

"He made me look weak!"

"He made you look desirable! And let's face it, you can use all the help you can get in that department. You were about as romantic as dirt until he said he wanted you. Now they all do. You're all they're talking about. The star-crossed lovers from District Twelve!"

"But we're not star-crossed lovers!"

That's when I really snap. What was wrong with the girl! Stupid, stubborn, misunderstanding! I grab her shoulders and pin her against the wall, staring her right in the eyes and hoping that something — anything! — will register in that incompetent brain of hers. "Who cares! It's all a big show. It's all how you're perceived. The most I could say about you after your interview was that you were nice enough, although that in itself was a small miracle. Now I can say you're a heartbreaker. Oh, oh, oh, how the boys back at home fall longingly at your feet. Which do you think will get you more sponsors?"

She pushes me and I stumble back a few steps, but don't stop glaring at her. You could hear a pin drop. Then Cinna wraps an arm around her comfortingly. "He's right, Katniss."

More silences ensues as she thinks, broken only by the clinking sounds of Peeta tossing away bits of urn. "I should have been told," she says eventually. "So I didn't look so stupid.

"No, your reaction was perfect. If you'd known it wouldn't have read as real," says Portia.

"She's just worried about her boyfriend," Peeta says gruffly.

Boyfriend? I think of the dark haired boy next to her in the Hob the day of the Reaping. They seemed to be close. It was too suspicious; something had to be done, I decide.

"I don't have a boyfriend," she answers, flushing.

"Whatever," Peeta says, a touch of bitterness polluting his normally cordial voice. "But I bet he's smart enough to know a bluff when he sees it. Besides you didn't say you loved me. So what does it matter?"

Silences wraps around us again, Peeta still hanging on for Katniss's reaction. Effie and Portia are still worrying over Peeta's hands; Cinna is still worrying over Katniss. I am worried about both of them.

"After he said he loved me," says Katniss suddenly, "did you think I could be in love with him, too?"

Peeta looks away, but I can see how much that statement hurt.

"I did," says Portia. "The way you avoided looking at the camera, the blush."

"You're golden, sweetheart. You're going to have sponsors lined up around the block," I say.

She apologizes to Peeta, and he accepts graciously. Finally, I am able to lead them all to dinner, away from the uncomfortable situation. We start eating, but Peeta's hands start bleeding at the slightest touch, so Portia leads him off for medical treatment.

After dinner we watch reply in the sitting room. I patiently wait for the entire thing to finish, the anthem to play and the screen to go dark. There was nothing to tell Katniss and Peeta. They both knew their faults already.

Cinna clicks the TV screen off, and the room falls silent, the approaching weight of the Games laying on all our shoulders. Peeta and Katniss will leave early tomorrow morning; I will have to give my final advice now.

I impatiently wait for Effie Trinket to stop crying over both their shoulders so I can talk to them. She leaves with an awful, "I wouldn't be at all surprised if I finally get promoted to a decent district next year!" and hurries away.

Getting over my disgust quickly, I go over to the two tributes. I cross my arms and look them over silently.

"Any final words of advice?" Peeta asks, shattering the quiet.

"When the gong sounds, get the hell out of there," I say. It would be the best strategy for both of them. "You're neither of you up to the blood bath at the Cornucopia. Just clear out, put as much distance as you can between yourselves and the others, and find a source of water. Got it?"

"And after that?" Katniss asks.

"Stay alive." And this time when I say the words, I find that I do care.

They nod. With one final, downcast glance, Katniss slips from the room quietly, done talking to people. My last glance of her is a shimmering reflection from a bright jewel.

Peeta is talking softly with Portia, so I just lurk in a corner for a while. Soon, he turns and makes as if to leave, but I catch his shoulder. "I told you that might happen," I mutter, "I told you to be prepared."

He looks at me, eyes flashing from confused to pained. "I know," he murmurs. "I just didn't know it would hurt that much." And he disappears around the corner before I can say another word.