A/N: Guys, you continue to amaze me. Over 500 reviews already and we're not 10 chapters into the story! I think I'm going to die by happy dancing.
Also, I said last chapter that we had an awesome PK/H convo. Yeah . . . that's next chapter. My bad. Hopefully this chapter is still entertaining.
And I'm in a real hurry this morning, so I haven't edited this chapter. Let's hope there's not too many errors. If you find one, consider my wrist slapped.
Movie quote for the day is from The Dark Knight Rises.
Random Disclaimer: I do not own CF, though I do own a rather fantastic fedora; "Think you used enough dynamite there, Butch?"; "Why is the rum always gone?"; "Why so serious?"; "I'll get you my pretty! And your little dog, too!"; "I am Asneeze, father of Achoo."; "Dobby did not mean to kill . . . only to maim . . . or seriously injure."; "My precious!"; "Puny god"; "So that's what it feels like"
Chapter 9
Once we're back on the train, I find Effie and apologize profusely, knowing that if I don't, she probably won't accept it. I'm surprised and immensely relieved when she seems to understand the 'stress' that I'm under, and she can see how I would want to lash out. She advises me to choose someone else to lash out at next time I'm feeling too 'stressed.' Unsurprisingly, she suggests that next time I snap at Haymitch instead.
Peeta hardly has time to ask me how things went with Effie before both of us are swept away by our prep teams. It's not as bad as usual, though. Even if my prep team prattles on like there's no tomorrow, they're genuine in their desire to make me look good, even if they'd like to make a few more 'alterations' to me. Their suggestions remind me of the dim memory of Haymitch yelling during my stay in the hospital after the Games. The Capitol had wanted to make a few 'alterations' while I was knocked out, most notably breast implants. Thankfully, Haymitch fought them tooth and nail and I was spared the horror of waking up with a significantly larger chest.
Octavia paints my nails a delicate pink. Apparently we're still going for the whole 'innocent' angle with me, which honestly suits me just fine. I don't have to worry about wearing anything too uncomfortable or revealing. Flavius and Venia work to make-up my face, and I'm pleased that when they're finished I don't feel like my face is caked in make-up. As always, when I look in the mirror after they are finished, I still look like me . . . just different.
It really does make sense if you think about it. Maybe.
Flavius went a new direction with my hair this time, doing a style he hasn't done before. He curled my hair into fine ringlets before sweeping them over my left shoulder in a low side ponytail. I have to admit that I like it.
When they release me after only an hour, I amble down to Peeta's room. This time I knock, because I don't know if Peeta's done prepping. The door opens to reveal Peeta, looking as handsome as ever in a grey suit with a sunset orange dress shirt. The color matches my dress perfectly.
"Did you tell Cinna my favorite color?" Peeta asks as he looks at my dress.
"Maybe," I shrug indifferently. I may have mentioned it during one of our long phone conversations, discussing the plans for 'my' designs. "Cinna has good instincts."
"Uh huh," Peeta says, knowing that I've told Cinna, but letting me have my fun. "Sure."
I smile. "Come on, let's go take a look at District 11," I say. "We're almost there."
Peeta shrugs in reply, and together we make our way to the last car on the train. It's full of couches and chairs, but what's extra cool about it is that the walls retract to the ceiling, and then it's like you're riding in a glass box. It's like one huge window.
Just before we reach the last car we have to maneuver through the cargo car, which houses Peeta's paintings and all the clothes that I supposedly designed. I can't help but ask, "Why can't I see all of your paintings?"
"Because you wouldn't like the others," Peeta answers, glancing down at me. "They're not pretty."
"I'm sure they're just as good as the others," I say confused. "You can't paint a bad picture, Peeta."
Peeta stops walking and sighs, his eyes darting to the door on his left. "I guess it's about time for you to see them," he says, somewhat reluctantly.
Even though I'm eager to see the secret paintings he's kept hidden from me all these months, I can't help but be wary about his reluctance. "I don't have to see them if you don't want me to."
"No." Peeta rubs the back of his neck, a habit of his when he's stressed. "I'm tired of keeping you in the dark."
When he opens the door, I can't help the little bubble of excitement that settles within me. I've been extremely curious about his 'mystery' paintings, though I've always respected his wishes and refrained from going into his art studio. I can't help but wonder what it is about these paintings that make Peeta think that I won't like them.
The moment I step into the compartment, I understand exactly why he thinks I won't like them, but he's wrong. I don't like them.
I hate them.
Staring back at me, captured in perfect, gruesome detail are the Seventy-fourth Hunger Games. I step away from Peeta and slowly walk down the aisles, only vaguely aware that he's following slightly behind me. There are some pictures that someone might not immediately recognize, but I do. Water dripping through the cracks in our cave. A dry stream bed. Others, anyone would recognize. The golden horn of the Cornucopia. A snarling, blonde, green-eyed mutt—Glimmer—trying to fruitlessly claw her way up the Cornucopia. A flash of a sword slicing through flesh—Cato.
But that's not truly what catches my attention. The most prominent figure in all of these paintings is me. I'm everywhere. In a tree. Beating a shirt against the rocks. Cooking over a fire. Lying in a pool of blood. Standing on top of the Cornucopia, an arrow strung in my bow, as I aim at someone that isn't shown. I know who it is though. That must be how I looked when I was aiming at Cato, when he had Peeta in that headlock. Somehow, Peeta has managed to show me glaring fiercely, and yet in my grey eyes, all you see is fear and desperation.
There's another painting of me that catches my eye, and I can't help but stare at it more than the others. I'm emerging from a grey mist, the exact same color of my eyes. I look almost ethereal. Like I'm some sort of higher being. This must be how he thought I looked when his fever was at its highest.
I pause in my step, overcome by all that I'm seeing. My eyes cast a quick glance around me, but all I see are bold brushstrokes, full of a terror that I try and forget. And all Peeta seems to be doing is reliving it. "Why?" I ask. "How, even? How do you remember all of this detail?"
Peeta sighs. "I see them every night," he says softly. Nightmares, he means.
"Does it help?" I twine my fingers with his, wanting to comfort him. "To paint them?"
"They certainly haven't gone away, if that's what you mean," he replies, dropping my hand in favor of wrapping his arm around my waist and pulling me into his side.
"I feel guilty," I admit and Peeta looks down at me quizzically.
"What for?"
"I never know when you have nightmares," I tell him. It's true. Unlike me, Peeta doesn't thrash around and scream. Too many times I've woke him up while in the midst of one of my nightmares, and he's had to wake me up and calm me. "I can't be there for you like you are for me."
Peeta shakes his head. "You are there for me," he assures me. "All I have to do is wake up, and there you are. In my arms or practically on top of me," he adds with a small smirk before looking serious again. "But the point is that you're there. Safe with me. That's all the comfort I need."
I stare at him blankly for a moment. "You have to rehearse these lines," I say eventually, making him laugh, though it's slightly strained. "Seriously," I continue as I lead us both out of the compartment. "No one can be that romantic off the top of their head. You must have them written down somewhere."
I shut the door firmly behind us, blocking out all the horrors housed inside and focusing on Peeta. "So come on," I continue to tease him. "Fess up. Admit it."
"Okay," he sighs heavily and I wonder if he really does have them written down somewhere. That thought is dashed when he grins at me. "I really am that romantic. I admit it."
I scoff. "If only those lines worked on me. You're just wasting your breath."
"Really?" Peeta says as we open the door to the last train car. He flips the switch that retracts the walls and we both watch as they rise to reveal the clear glass. "Because you blush a lot for no reason then."
I blush.
He smirks.
Ignoring him for the time being, I focus on the view that surrounds us. The terrain is such a contrast from District 12. Mountains have been replaced with plains, wide expanses of fields dotted with wildflowers and grazing dairy cattle. The fields eventually give way to crops, and that's when we see the people of District 11. Men, women, and children dressed in light clothes and large straw hats to help block the bright sun, they take a break from their work to stretch and watch our train fly past. I can't help but be shocked by the sheer size of District 11 as the crop fields continue on. In school they simply say that 11 is a large district.
Big understatement.
In the distance, I can see the orchards where Rue worked. I wonder if the rest of her family is out there now, most likely they are, and I wonder if one of Rue's siblings has taken her job of climbing to the highest points in the trees. I wonder if they still use her little song to signal quitting time.
We continue through District 11 and just when the vastness is beginning to overwhelm me, the train begins to slow. I think it might be another fuel stop, but when I look out, I see that it's not.
"That's different," Peeta says as he eyes the thing.
It's a fence. At least thirty-five feet tall, the top of the fence coiled with barbed wire that looks infinitely more menacing than the one in District 12. Our fence in 12 looks pathetic in comparison to this one. I take note of the large steel plates that line the bottom of the fence. There would be no tunneling under to escape into the woods to hunt.
Also different are the watchtowers. Tall escarpments that have an armed guard at the top, constantly on the lookout. I glance warily at Peeta. Rue had told me that things were harsh, but I never imagined it to be like this. When Effie comes to get us to go over the schedule one last time, Peeta and I don't hesitate to follow her.
Effie begins to go through the plan, though I really don't pay much attention. It may be lazy of me, and a little bit selfish, but I know that Peeta will pay attention, and then he'll tell me what I need to know. Besides, Effie has been over the schedule a hundred times already.
Some of the stops on the Victory Tour are more lavish than others. In some districts we'll parade through the streets. While in others, like District 11, the celebration is much more subtle. The ceremony will be confined to the square in front of the Justice Building, which truly must have been a magnificent marble structure in its time, before its façade was covered with ivy and the roof sunken in.
The entire ceremony is really simple. It will be held on the veranda, an expanse of tiled floor in between the front doors of the Justice Building and the stairs in front of it. Luckily, the veranda is shaded by a roof supported by columns. Peeta and I will be introduced and then the mayor of 11 will read a speech, honoring us, after which Peeta and I will reply with scripted thank-yous provided by the Capitol. However, it's considered a good grace to add a few personal notes to your thank-yous, mentioning the tributes from the District.
This is the hard part for me. Every time I think about Rue and Thresh, especially Rue, I get emotional. I tried to write down something that I could say, but I always ended up frustrated, a blank piece of paper staring up at me hours later. I'm grateful that Peeta is better with words than I am because we took his thank-you and quirked it a little bit so that it could come from both of us.
After our obligatory thank-you, the mayor will present us with a plaque and then we'll have a brief break where our prep teams will prepare us for the banquet afterward that takes place in the Justice Building.
All in all, everything should go smoothly. Of course, the fact that I have to face the mourning families of Thresh and Rue does damper my cautious hope for things to go well. Hell, who am I kidding? No matter how smoothly things go, I'm going to be miserable.
Cinna comes up to make the finishing touches on my outfit, securing my mockingjay pin to my dress and switching out my orange headband for a gold one. Portia is franticly trying to fix Peeta's hair, which seems to be insistent on being as unruly as it can be. Finally, exasperated, Peeta gently grabs her wrists to get her to stop fussing. He says something softly to her that I can't hear, and Portia smiles ruefully. I can't help but notice the fondness they have for each other. And even though Portia is probably only ten years older, there's almost a maternal glint in her eye as she makes sure that Peeta's outfit is in order, swiping at dirt on his jacket that isn't there. I make a note to ask Peeta about it later.
Instead of a crowd waiting for us when the train doors open, we're met with eight mean-looking Peacekeepers. Peeta takes my hand as we're escorted to what I can only describe as an armored truck and 'asked' to sit in the back. Effie is already in a state.
"The nerve of some people," she tisks. "You'd think we were criminals."
Peeta and I share a glance. Not you, Effie, I think. Just me and Peeta.
The moment the truck comes to a stop, the doors are opened and we're escorted into the Justice Building. I'm immediately hit with the delicious smells of cooking food that will be served at the banquet, but even these tasty smells cannot completely overcome the stench of mildew and rot.
It seems like mere seconds before Peeta and I are standing behind a large group of doors. Already, the mayor is speaking, about to welcome us out. My heart is hammering as Cinna clips my microphone onto my dress; the full weight of our situation hits me. It all beings today, mine and Peeta's task of calming the districts. I glance up at Peeta and I know he's thinking the same thing. He leans down and places a comforting kiss in my hair just as the doors open with a loud, strained creak.
Both of us straighten up and we're all smiles as we step out onto the veranda and walk toward where the mayor is set up at a podium. The crowd applauds loudly, but that's probably only because there are so many people. The square is completely packed, and yet I know that this can't even be a mere fraction of their population. I have no doubt that there are thousands more still at work in the fields.
The mayor gives his speech and while Peeta and I wait for him to finish so we can respond with our thanks, I'm wondering how I'm going to show that I'm crazy in love with Peeta. Emphasis on the 'crazy' so it's believable that I was so consumed by my feelings when I pulled out those berries to save us both that I wasn't thinking about defying the Capitol. Which I wasn't.
But that's not what the people want to believe, and I don't know how to take back the hope I seem to have given them. I, for one, know how much you can cling to a single shred of hope. And this knowledge only makes my task that much harder.
I focus my thoughts when Peeta begins to speak, delivering his Capitol-issued thanks to the tributes of District 11. I say my piece when he's finished, immensely grateful to my mother and Prim who drilled the words into my head. Two little girls timidly hand Peeta and I a bouquet of flowers, and I can't help but be reminded of Rue, who hid behind a tree when I first found her in the arena. Or rather, when she found me.
Peeta begins to speak again in that personable, easy-going way of his as he addresses Thresh and Rue's families. He talks of how he owes both Thresh and Rue a debt that he can never repay. Because by my teaming up with Rue, and because Thresh spared my life, I was not only able to live, but I was also able to keep Peeta alive as well.
As Peeta speaks I can't help but look at Thresh and Rue's families. They're sitting on a small platform at the foot of the stage. On Thresh's side, only two people sit. An aged, and yet tough-looking woman, who I assume must be his grandmother. Beside her sits a tall, muscular, athletic girl that must be Thresh's sister. However, it's Rue's family that truly breaks my heart. Her parent's faces are still fraught with grief. Her five younger siblings all look so much like her that it's unreal. They all have that same stance, like a bird about to take flight, particularly the oldest, a girl that looks like a miniature copy of Rue, maybe nine years old.
And this little girl is glaring at me reproachfully. I know why, and I'm filled with guilt. She's upset because I have yet to thank Rue. I've stayed silent and let Peeta do all the talking. I know that Rue would have said something about me if she had won. I owe her the same courtesy.
The mayor begins to wrap up the ceremony, but I step away from Peeta, toward the families. "Wait," I say, my voice cracking in my nervousness. "Wait." My time for speaking has passed, but I can't leave here without saying something. "Just, wait, please." I look at Rue's sister again. "I need to say something."
What, exactly, I have no idea, but I know how to start. "I want to give my thanks to the tributes of District 11." My eyes settle on Thresh's family. "I only ever spoke to Thresh one time. Just long enough for him to spare my life. I didn't know him, but I always respected him. For his power. For his refusal to play the Games on anyone's terms but his own. The Careers wanted him to team up with them from the beginning, but he wouldn't do it. I respected him for that."
I feel oddly flustered and relieved now that the words are off my chest. They came so easily to me that I know they must have been lurking in the back of my mind all this time. Thresh's grandmother raises her head to look at me, and I see a faint smile playing on her lips. I give her a small smile, before steeling myself and turning to face Rue's family.
"But I feel as if I did know Rue, and she'll always be with me. Everything beautiful brings her to mind. I see her in the yellow flowers that grow in the Meadow by my house. I see her in the mockingjays that sing in the trees. But most of all, I see her in my sister, Prim." My throat is threatening to close, but I swallow and force myself to finish. I'm grateful to microphone pinned to my chest because otherwise I don't know if anyone would have heard me when I say, "Thank you for your children." I lift my gaze from them to let my eyes sweep over the crowd. "And thank you for the bread."
You could have heard a pin drop the entire time I spoke, but I didn't really notice the silence until I finished speaking. There's a very pregnant pause before I hear Rue's little four-note tune in a clear whistle. My eyes find the whistler and I see that it's an old man, dressed in a frayed red flannel shirt and a dirty pair of overalls.
What happens next both moves me and terrifies me at the same time. The move is too uniform to be spontaneous. I watch in horror and amazement as everyone in the square places three fingers to their lips before holding them out to me in a salute. It's the very same goodbye I gave Rue in the arena, a special goodbye that we in District 12 use.
I'm in trouble. I'm in more trouble now than I've ever been. I hear the static sound of my microphone being turned off, and the mayor immediately jumps into his closing remarks. Peeta takes my hand again and I don't look at him, but I know by the way he's gripping my hand that he's just as worried as I am.
I screwed up. Big time. President Snow told us to calm the districts, and look what I have done. What will he think when he sees an entire square of people saluting me, the girl who defied the Capitol? No amount of kisses or hugs will convince these people that I was simply infatuated and overwhelmed by love when I pulled out those berries. These people will cling to their hope.
Dread fills me and keeps my lips sealed shut. I only meant to express my thanks. That's all I wanted, but all I've done is enabled the people of District 11 to boldly show their dissent to the Capitol. This is exactly the kind of thing I was supposed to be preventing!
An applause causes me to look up, and I see that the ceremony is over. Peeta and I acknowledge them before he begins to lead me back into the Justice Building. He reaches up with his free hand and clips off his mic, before balling it tightly in his fist.
"It's not your fault," he whispers, keeping his voice low just in case the microphone might still pick him up. "You couldn't have known that they would do that."
My voice seems to be refusing to work. I open my mouth, but no words come out. Finally, I manage, "I-I didn't mean to . . ."
"I know," Peeta assures me.
While we've been talking we've unconsciously ceased walking back toward the doors of the Justice Building. If only we had been able to walk and talk at the same time. Instead, hidden by the shadows of the veranda, we see the entire thing.
The old man who whistled Rue's tune is led to the top of the steps by a group of Peacekeepers and harshly forced onto his knees before the crowd. When the gunshot goes off, I freeze, horrified, as the old man crumples to the ground, a pool of blood staining the steps from the bullet hole in his head.
Well, Katniss has now seen Peeta's paintings and knows that Peeta really can be that romantic off the top of his head. ;)
And someone died. Can't forget that. :(
So, next chapter has a great convo between PK and Haymitch. Promise.
Quote from Chapter 10 comes from Haymitch!
"You two are screwed."
Lots of love,
AC
