No rights to The Hunger Games
Haymitch leans against the dining table of the apartment as Gale and I pace back and forth explain Snow's visit.
"Did he say anything else?" he asks.
"No, those were our only punishments," Gale answers.
"Only punishments?" Haymitch repeats, his eyebrows shooting up. "Do you have any idea what a big deal this is?"
"Seneca gives us low scores because we're troublesome. So what?" Gale says. "Our scores don't affect how well we perform in the Games."
"You know about the sponsor system, don't you?" Haymitch asks.
Gale and I nod. "Yeah, our district sends us stuff when we're in trouble."
"It's much more complex than that, boy!" Haymitch waved his hand in the air as if trying to wave away Gale's passiveness. "When you're in trouble, sponsors can send you items to help you out. Not just from your district, but from any district. Do you honestly believe our poor, little District 12 can afford to send you whatever they want whenever they want? These scores could have helped you win the support of other Districts. Snow might have just signed off your death sentence."
"I think you're overreacting," I tell him.
"Excuse me!" he lifts a finger in my direction. "One of the people in this room actually has one these Games. Guess which?" When no one answers, he continues. "Banning you from the interviews has the same effect on your popularity. When you don't show up and everyone else acts like the likable suckers they are, they get the supports, while you two are met with confusion and suspicion for your absence."
"I thought you said are whole friend dynamic earned us some support," Gale recalled.
"It did," Haymitch affirmed, "but absence from the interviews is a bigger deal than you two knowing each other.
"Another thing," he continues, "since you two have showed rebellious tendencies, Snow is probably out to get you."
"He's already throwing us to a likely death," Gale points out.
"It just became a lot more likely," Haymitch says. "Be on your best behavior until you get into these Games." Haymitch glances at the both of us, then rolls his eyes. "Who am I kidding?" he mutters to himself.
"So what do we do now?" I ask him, ignoring the jab.
"Training and your trials start up this afternoon," Haymitch says. "Think up what you're going to do."
"Isn't that what you're supposed to advise us on?" I ask.
"You want me to hold your hand, too?" Haymitch taunts, but he advises anyway. "If you want to learn the ropes, and then go to station you think might be useful rather than the stuff you're already experienced in. What would that be for you two kiddies?"
Gale answers, "Well, for Katniss, it's a bow and arrow."
I shoot him a sharp look. For some reason, I feel like this is classified information meant only for the both of us.
"For me, it's traps and snares and things," Gale adds.
"We can definitely work with that," Haymitch nods. "If you want new skills, go to stations about herbs and plants and things. If you want a chance to up your score and intimidate the competitors and try a make sure your weapon of choice is there in the Games, you try your hand at archery and whichever station tells you how to use rope and leaves as a killing machine. Got it?"
Gale and I nod.
"Good," Haymitch approves. "Now stay here and don't do anything I wouldn't do, assuming I'm sober."
Haymitch leaves the room. I'm not entirely sure what he does when he's not with us and comes back still sober. He doesn't strike me as the type to have hobbies. I don't think about it much. There are more pressing matters.
"So what are we going to do?" I turn to Gale. "Show our skills and or attain new ones?"
"We don't have to think about that, Katniss," Gale says.
I furrow my brow. "Huh?"
He turns to face me back. "We can still get out."
I sigh heavily, putting my hands on my hips and shooting him a look I hope illustrates how outrageous he is. He reads my expression and walks up to me, as if that will better help make his point.
"I'm serious, Katniss," he continues. "We failed one time. So what? We can still escape."
I glare at him more harshly, but he keeps going.
"So there's a marble wall around this place. So what? The car that brought us here, it had to have come through a whole or something, right? If we can find it, we can slip through it and head for something other district. We can—"
"Stop it, Gale," I say.
"Katniss, seriously, we could—"
"Stop it!" I screech, and this time he does, the something in my voice quieting him.
Now, I am the one ranting, a bit of voice-cracking desperation thrown into my speech. "Stop trying to find a way out of this, Gale. If it was possible to escape, someone a bit more intelligent than us probably would have done it already. Face it! It looks we're about to step foot into the Hunger Games, unless we get killed before then or something, and you won't seem to accept it. These things happen, Gale. No matter how much you slam your fist against walls of marble, or scream about how unfair the Capitol is while we're hunting, that doesn't change the fact that we're here, now, and while we are, we should think about how one of us is going to get out of here alive.
"And . . . yeah."
That stammer drained a good portion of the intensity out of my speech. I probably should have left off with a furrowed brow and heavy breathing left over by my feelings, but Effie hasn't taught me about how to speak correctly yet. Without the interviews, I note, she probably doesn't have to anymore.
Gale's staring at me, expression inscrutable. I decide to pick up my speech again. I reach for the mockingjay pinned to my shirt.
"You have me this to remember you by," I remind him. "You've already accepted that one of us is going to die before, so stop entertaining your escape fantasies and get yourself in gear, because if you die first, I'll kill you."
And I ruin it again.
"Well, I won't kill you, obviously, but I'd probably be pretty upset with you."
"You'd hold a grudge on my corpse?" he frowns.
"Of course not. I'm just . . . try not to die, okay, Gale?" I plead dejectedly.
"Yeah," he nods unconvincingly.
I'm about to request something more reassuring when the door cracks open. Effie's head pokes in.
"Hello, children," she greets merrily. "Time to get dressed for training!"
Aaand end of chapter.
May I ask you fine citizens something?
After this story ends, assuming I don't die or give up or lose my hands before I can finish, should I make a sequel, like go into Catching Fire with the circumstances this story leaves off of? I know it may seem far off now, but that decision might I effect where I go with the story ending. Keep it mind, I may diregard your opinion entirely, but I do appreciate it:)
Thanks for reading/reviewing!
And also, may I say, I want this story to be in the actual Games already. However, I feel like it would be a little bit of a letdown if I started the next chapter with "And then we started the Games."