A.N: I am so overwhelmed by all of the support this is getting! Thanks to everyone who is reviewing, and favouriting. It really does mean a lot.
"Daisy Johnson, the girl on fire!" they called as I entered the room, clean-faced and dressed in comfy, and casual clothes I could actually breathe in. I smile, and greet them all in turn. Trip hugs me, and I beam at him the biggest. Coulson kisses both cheeks, whilst May nods her head, signalling that now, not ever, will she ever let me hug her. My prep team were ecstatic, and welcomed me all at once. Then I finally met Joey Gutierrez, Grant's stylist, and his prep team. They were nice, and full of praise. Last but not least, I said hello to Grant. We didn't hug, or shake hands, merely acknowledged the others presence with a slight smile.
We sat down to eat our dinner, and I noticed that me and Grant were seated rather snugly beside each other. My hand brushed his, and in unison we apologised.
Coulson raised his glass, filled with a celebratory, sparkling concoction, as the rest of us followed suit. "To District 12," he spoke, in an assertive, and joyous tone. "And, if I do say so myself, the greatest entrance into the Games in seventy-four years!"
We all cheered, and clinked our glasses against the others, the brought the cup up to our lips. The liquid was sweet, and fruity, and you couldn't have guessed it was alcoholic, until you swallowed, and that familiar fiery sensation tingled your tastebuds as it slipped down your throat. I had to pace myself, not wanting another repeat of the first night on the train. I could feel Grant's gaze on me, as he was thinking the exact same thing.
Chatter was mainly about what the other tributes wore, and how our costumes were so much better than anyone had anticipated.
"We have Trip to thank for that," I interjected, with a grateful smile in his direction. He bowed his head in appreciation. "Without him, nobody would have given us a second look."
"Now don't be so dubious, Daisy," Coulson cooed, placing a hand on my own in a comforting matter. "You could have gone out there, stark naked, and they'd still have loved you!" I wasn't quite sure how to feel about this statement.
"I think you two have set some kind of record for the amount of sponsors already willing to invest in you," May pointed out, skewering a piece of beef stew with her fork, and idly chewing it in her mouth. I'm pretty sure she's still on her first drink, and this in itself is a miracle. I wonder what brought on this change of pace? "We just have to figure out where your strengths and weaknesses lie before tomorrow."
Ah, the dreaded tomorrow. There's not a worse feeling in the world than the jittery trepidation of waiting. I really wish May hadn't brought up the topic, when I was in such a good mood - or at least as good a mood you can be in, given the circumstances.
"What can you do Daisy?" she asked, in a slightly offhand tone. "We know you can fight, and you could certainly talk your victims to death!"
A roar of laughter erupted as the words rolled off of May's tongue, and I found myself gripping the handle of my fork just that little bit tighter. I noticed Grant's mouth twitch a little as she spoke, and I couldn't help but feel a little betrayed.
"She can hunt," Grant told everyone, before I had a chance to even consider the question. "And she's brilliant, too."
"I'm not that good," I correct, with a tiny scowl. "Rarely do I - "
"She always hits her prey, right in the eye, so she won't spoil the kill," he presses, making me out to be some excellent marksman. "My father is always the first in line for her rabbit. He says he buys it not only because it's good produce, but because he likes the idea of you putting your neck out on the line, to put food on the table."
For some reason, the idea of my name being mentioned in Grant's home, much less the Mayor's household, sent shivers down my spine. I try to picture the scene; Mayor Raury sat, tearing apart my rabbit with his knife and fork delicately, commenting on how tasty the meat is. I zoom in on Grant's reaction - pleasantly surprised, though I can't imagine what he'd be saying.
"Please, it's by chance that I ever hit it in the eye." I don't know why I was being modest, making my skills seem adequate, when in fact I know them to be distinguished. Besides Lincoln, I'm the only hunter in District 12, and as far as I know, the whole of Panem. Deep down, I guessed that, maybe, just maybe, I liked to hear Grant compliment me.
"It's not by chance, and you know it" he says, looking me square in the eye. "Don't underrate yourself. You're better than you think you are. The majority of District 12 owes you their life."
This rubs me the wrong way, the fact that he's noticed things like this. It's uncomfortable.
"Well, what about you?" I ask him, knitting my eyebrows together. I turn to the rest of the table, who were all engrossed in Grant and I's back-and-forth derision. "Grant can fight, and pretty damn well. I've seen him, at school. He wrestles, you see, and he's the best in - "
"What are you doing?" he cries, and I could see his fists clenched under the table.
"If anyone, out of me and you, is going to have a chance at surviving this, it will be the one who has at least a chance at fighting back!" I shoot back. I can hear my voice rising in anger.
Slamming his fist against the table, he jumped up, and looked upon me with the oddest expression on his face. It was a mix between bitterness, and empathy. I flinched as he did so, and dropped my fork on the floor.
"You don't get to say that. You . . . you don't get to," he mutters, with an unsteady voice. His grip on the back of his chair was causing his knuckles to grow white. "You know, my father told me something, when they came to say their goodbyes. He said 'that girl has a lot of courage to volunteer for somebody not even blood related. When are you going to start showing that kind of courage, son? When are you going to make me proud?'."
I could tell, because of the pain in his eyes, and the quiver to his voice, that he wasn't lying. And in this moment, I no longer envied the Mayor's son with the full belly, and the six bedroom house between the four of them. I no longer saw him as the shy, little boy who his behind his mother's knee. I no longer felt like I was the victim when I looked at him.
"I'm sorry, Grant" I mutter, half under my breath, half loud enough for him to hear.
He shrugs it off, and decides to walk away, back into his room. I know that it's my fault he left, and somehow I know that it's my fault he's hurting. The fierce and vehement look in May's eye only confirmed that.
The rest of the dinner was eaten in silence, which was perhaps the worst option. It only left me to think about everything, about everyone. Katya, Lincoln, the orphans. Grant. I mentally scolded myself, remembering why I'm here in the first place. I can't let myself get attached to him, because how am I going to feel if I have to watch him die in the arena?
As the silent servers, who I soon came to learn were called Avoxes, and had their tongues horrifically cut out of their mouths, took our plates away, May, almost tepidly, continued with the previous conversation.
"So you say you can hunt? What with?"
"Bow and arrows mostly, but my friend taught me to make snares," I answer, leaning back in my chair, as to give myself some breathing room. I don't think I could have fit another bread roll in if I tried. "But Grant really is a good fighter, I've watched a few matches at school. He's come first every year since he was fourteen."
Coulson nods in approval, his face lighting up. Running through his mind now must be potential praise, showering over him as they call District 12 as the victor. Which one of us however, that's not all too clear. May however, seems apprehensive.
"If you're as good as he says you are, you need to make sure you find yourself a bow and some arrows. If you don't, I can't see you surviving for that long" was all she said, as she disappeared from the table, and hovered round the drink's cabinet. Then, she slipped off down the corridor, though I have a sneaky suspicion she wasn't heading towards her own room.
Feeling my spirits sink with a heavy thud, I down the last few dregs of my drink, and asked for some more. As an Avox leans over my shoulder, I am overcome with guilt. Never have I had anyone wait on me before, and I don't think I could ever get used to it. I thank her, with a warm smile. She nods her head in appreciation. In her eyes, as dark as the lake we crossed on our way here, I see a glimmer of empathy, before she returns to her spot, by the beverages. This is when you know you couldn't get any lower; when even the Capitol slaves pity you.
"May doesn't mean to come across so hostile," whispers a voice from behind me. Snapping my neck round, I'm relieved when it's only Trip. He offers me hand up, and he leads me over to the sofas. We sit down, and he smiles, comfortingly. "I think it's in the job description: fifty-two year old alcoholic District 12 mentor - must not smile, under any circumstances."
I give a soft giggle, and lean back in the chair, allowing myself to succumb to the warmth of the room, and the drowsy effects of the champagne.
"You should get some sleep, Daisy," he softly murmurs. "Tomorrow is going to be a big day."
I jolt myself abruptly, and agree. For tomorrow will be pretty eventful. We begin our three-day pre-Hunger Games training. And finally meet the other tributes.