The Hunger Games in Peeta's Point of View.
My Beta Reader hasn't read through this or the next one, oops. But I did proof read it myself, so hopefully it shall do. Also, as a christmas present, I'll be posting Chapter 9 in a half hour.
Chapter Eight.
I return to my room, pulling on a loose shirt and some shorts before falling into the bed, pulling the covers over my head to shut out the world. I fall into a fitful sleep, starting awake many times throughout the night often covered in sweat. Eventually I sleep for more than a few hours at a time and it is morning when I next open my eyes.
I decide to get in the shower first, as I'm sure I smell from the sweat covered night; luckily I'm quite a master at working the shower and know the right buttons to press, so it doesn't take long to get washed and get out. Whilst I had been in the shower somebody had laid out an outfit for me. It's quite comforting to see that it looks a lot like something I might have worn at home. Black trousers that seem a little too tight for my liking, but I figure I don't have much choice in the matter; the long sleeved tunic and leather shoes are fine by my tastes, though. Nice and simple.
I'm surprised nobody has come to call me for breakfast, but figure since Haymitch had set it up it wouldn't have been an early meal, and he'll probably amble in after Katniss and I have already eaten. Much to my surprise, Haymitch is walking down the hallway as I leave my room.
"Ah Peeta, just in time. Good morning."
"Good morning, Haymitch." We walk in silence to the dining room, where Katniss is already sitting at the table with her breakfast. Haymitch and I greet her in unison. I notice that her outfit is the same as mine, which means our stylists are still going for the joined team idea. I have to suppress my smile to see that she's dipping her rolls in a mug of hot chocolate, which she must have seen me do on the train. I doubt it was something her mother had taught her to do, since she didn't even know what hot chocolate was before I told her.
We sit in silence for a long while. Nothing is said until Haymitch decides he's eaten enough, then taking a long draw on his flask. "So, let's get down to business. Training. First off, if you like, I'll coach you separately. Decide now." He says, leaning back in his chair to observe us.
"Why would you coach us separately?" Katniss instantly asks, which perks me up a little for an unknown reason.
"Say if you had a secret skill you might not want the other to know about," Haymitch offers, causing Katniss and I to look at one another briefly. "I don't have any secret skills," I shrug. "And I already know what yours is, right? I mean, I've eaten enough of your squirrels." I say casually, almost getting flustered.
"You can coach us together," Katniss decides and I nod my head in agreement.
"All right, so give me some idea of what you can do."
"I can't do anything," I instantly offer, then adding, "unless you count baking bread."
"Sorry, I don't. Katniss. I already know you're handy with a knife." Haymitch says, acknowledging her across the table.
"Not really. But I can hunt. With a bow and arrow." She admits.
"And you're good?"
"I'm all right," she finally answers. I roll my eyes, but nobody sees me.
"She's excellent," I add in. "My father buys her squirrels. He always comments on how the arrows never pierce the body. She hits every one in the eye. It's the same with the rabbits she sells the butcher. She can even bring down deer." I tell Haymitch, and Katniss looks at me with surprise. Suddenly, she's narrowing her eyes in suspicion.
"What are you doing?" I look at her in shock, wondering what she could mean.
"What are you doing?" I repeat, "if he's going to help you, he has to know what you're capable of. Don't underrate yourself."
"What about you?" She snaps, taking me by surprise. "I've seen you in the market. You can lift fifty-kilo bags of flour. Tell him that. That's not nothing." for some reason this irks me, and I think of just how different these realisations are. She can shoot a bow and arrow; I can lift a bag of flour. Although I think of how she had said about seeing me in the market, and wonder at how she had seen me – had she been watching me or had I just happened to fall in to her line of gaze?
"Yes, and I'm sure the arena will be full of bags of flour for me to chuck at people. It's not like being able to use a weapon. You know it isn't."
"He can wrestle. He came in second in our school competition last year, only after his brother."
"What use is that? How many times have you seen someone wrestle someone to death?" I shake my head, annoyed that all the skills she had pointed out to Haymitch would be of no help to me in a few days when I'm pitted against all of the other Tributes.
"There's always hand-to-hand combat. All you need is to come up with a knife, and you'll at least stand a chance. If I get jumped, I'm dead!" Katniss' voice is starting to rise as her anger builds up, and I can feel my own rising to the surface.
"But you won't be! You'll be living up in some tree eating raw squirrels and picking off people with arrows." I shoot back, suddenly so annoyed at her attitude. "You know what my mother said to me when she came to say goodbye, as if to cheer me up? She says maybe District Twelve will finally have a winner. I realised, she didn't mean me, she meant you!" I burst out the last part, almost instantly regretting the words.
"Oh, she means you," Katniss says, waving her hand as if to dismiss the thought.
"She said, 'She's a survivor that one.' She is." I tell her calmly, and she stops suddenly, staring across the table at me.
"But only because someone helped me." She says rather quietly. My eyes fall down to the bread roll still in her hands, knowing that we are both thinking of the same thing. I shrug my shoulders, as if it were nothing. "People will help you in the arena. They'll be tripping over each other to sponsor you."
"No more than you." She replies to me. I roll my eyes, turning my head towards Haymitch who seems to be following the conversation back and forth. I think I imagine the amusement in his expression.
"She has no idea. The effect she can have." I say, turning my attention to the wood grain of the table and following one of the patterns with my finger. Katniss doesn't reply. I'm too embarrassed to look up at her to see her reaction. I have no doubts that she misinterpreted my meaning, though.
"Well, then. Well, well, well." Haymitch breaks the silence. "Katniss, there's no guarantee there'll be bows and arrows in the arena, but during your private session with the Gamekeepers, show them what you can do. Until then, stay clear of archery. Are you any good at trapping?"
"I know a few basic snares," she mutters. I take the chance to glance up at her, but she just seems to be glaring at the bread roll in her hands.
"That may be significant in terms of food. And, Peeta, she's right, never underestimate strength in the arena. Very often, physical power tilts the advantage to a player. In the Training Centre, they will have weights, but don't reveal how much you can lift in front of the other tributes. The plan's the same for both of you. You go to group training. Spend the time trying to learn something you don't know. Throw a spear. Swing a mace. Learn to tie a decent knot. Save showing what you're best at until your private sessions. Are we clear?"
We both nod, and I start to wonder if Haymitch had been as drunk as we thought he had all these years, or perhaps this was just information and advice he was remembering from when he was a tribute.
"One last thing. In public, I want you by each other's side every minute." In my current anger with Katniss I start to object with Haymitch, as does Katniss; although on second thought I think that more time with Katniss might not be such a bad thing. "Every minute! It's not open for discussion! You agreed to do as I said! You will be together, you will appear amiable to each other. Now get out. Meet Effie at the elevator at ten for training."
We both get up and leave. Katniss storms off ahead of me and I hear the purposeful slam of her bedroom door, causing me to roll my eyes as I close my own quietly.
