The Lost Tribute ch 11

Alrighty. Looks like it's Launch Day! :D Oooh, I'm so keen to write this chapter! I'm writing it in Anya's POV, because I think it'll give her a bit more depth… :)

Please leave a review, and go check out my Katniss/Haymitch story…

Neve


It's Launch Day. The day I've been dreading for the past eight days.

I don't want to leave this room. I want to stay right here, in this peaceful fairytale Haymitch and I have created. I've tangled in the blankets of this ridiculously fancy room, wearing Haymitch's shirt as a dress to sleep in. We returned from our interviews last night and decided that we may as well become one whilst we still had the chance. I didn't want to die a virgin, and I love him so much…

We're lying there together, one of his arms wrapped tight around me, holding me close against his bare chest. His other hand is linked with mine. We are, for all intent and purpose, trying to shut out the world, and shield each other from the inevitable.

"Haymitch," I whisper, "If I die today…"

The hand on my back goes to my hair, soothing and comforting.

"You're not going to die," he informs me softly.

Empty words. Empty words designed to stop me from falling apart.

We watch the sun rise, and I think I start shaking, because he holds me close and whispers that he'll protect me, he'll die for me if he has to.

That wakes me up a bit. "If anyone dies for anyone, it'll be me for you," I say.

We stay in bed as the sun rises, holding each other, shutting out the world, kissing and exchanging whispered murmurs of love and affection. When the clock on the nightstand reads Seven AM, we're forced out of our bubble of seclusion and serenity by my stylist.

Apple at least has the decency to knock before he opens the door and my prep team crowd the room. Marigold offers me an apologetic smile, but Nita bursts into tears when she sees us and has to run off. Marko waves at me. Haymitch's stylist, Posy, and his prep team are also there.

Posy pushes through the crowd of preps, but she bursts into tears too when she sees us curled up together. I figure the best thing to do is leave with my team, to calm this all down a bit. I kiss Haymitch once more, our last kiss before we launch, perhaps. Maybe even our last kiss ever. Then I follow Apple out of the room, offering Posy an attempt at a brave smile. I think I fail, because she cries harder.

We get to the prep room, me still just wearing my underwear and borrowed shirt/dress.

My prep team all seem to have developed colds, because they sniff a lot as they get to work on me. Marigold strips the chipped gold paint off my nails and paints them sky-blue instead.

"I'll paint clouds on them when I'm done," Marigold tells me.

Nita does my makeup today, keeps it simple and natural looking. Marko braids my hair into hundreds of thin braids, like how I had it back home, before the Reaping. I sit quietly in my shirt/dress, and speak only when spoken to. I listen to my prep team's chatter, although even they seem a little sombre. Apple comes in with something in his hands. It's a little box. He hands it to me. "Will you wear this in the arena?" he asks, and instantly my hands fly to my neck. The chain that my mother gave me is still there. I touch each charm reverently: the coal in the cage, for home. The heart, for family. The bow-and-arrow, for victory. I don't intend to go home. If anyone from Twelve survives, it has to be Haymitch.

Apple is still looking at me. Oops. He wants an answer.

"Sure," I say.

He opens the box and shows me what's inside. It's a handful of thin ribbons, the color of my hair, each one to be braided into a braid of my hair. On closer inspection, each ribbon has a name embroidered on it in gold thread. I read each name before Marko starts to wind them into my braids.

Apple. Marko. Nita. Marigold. Posy. Effie. Haymitch. Bluebell. Jodie. Patrick.

I wonder how Apple found out that my mother's name is Jodie, and my late father's was Patrick.

"I'll wear them. Thank you so much," I say, and I truly mean it, "but won't I get told off? I already have a token?"

Apple grins at me. "These aren't tokens, princess. These are reminders of who you have to live for."

Marko winds each ribbon into my hair, so that if I pull on one of my thins braids, lifting it to my face, I can read the name in gold.

I feel oddly safe and comforted, sitting quietly, surrounded by my prep team, which is mad, because in a few hours' time, I'll be in the arena, and most likely never see these people again.

That, surprisingly, upsets me a little. Just a little, mind, because I can't allow my mind to be clouded.

Marko finishes my braids, and ties them back off my face with another black ribbon, striped with gold. I wonder if the gold is everyone's names, but don't check.

My prep team, one by one, grasp my hands and kiss my forehead, then file out. Apple passes me a garment bag which holds my Arena Outfit.

It's a pair of black pants and a black shirt, with black lace-up boots. No jacket. I change quickly, passing Apple my shirt/dress from before. He dumps that and the garment bag on the chair I've vacated.

"Let me get a good look at you," Apple says, and I twirl for him.

"Beautiful, princess," Apple says, and there are tears in his green eyes. It hits me then just how much I like Apple. He's like the big brother I never had.

"I'll come home, maybe?" I say to him.

He doesn't answer. He knows I'm lying.

"I'll see you in your launch room, princess." Apple says, and he too kisses my forehead and then vanishes. Perrie and Haymitch enter my prep room, Haymitch dressed in an identical black outfit. Haymitch draws me into his arms and presses a kiss to my temple.

"You look so beautiful," he murmurs.

Perrie, who, to my knowledge, looks clean of whatever illicit substances he uses, mimes vomiting into a potted plant. We ignore him. We're used to our Mentor's drug habits and general ass-hattery. I still haven't forgiven him for that slap. I don't think he's forgotten it either, nor will he do so in a hurry. He still has a black eye.


xXxXx


Haymitch grips my hand in the elevator, though I don't know if that's to reassure me, or himself. Perrie decides to give us some last minute advice.

"Don't go to the Cornucopia unless it's vital. And I mean seriously fucking vital," Perrie says, his voice a slurred mess. He's not drunk, but that explains that pill he took before we got into the elevator. So much for staying clean.

"How vital is vital?" Haymitch asks.

Perrie shrugs. "You tell me, kid."

Haymitch looks about ready to punch him. I squeeze his hand and he relaxes a bit. Perrie doesn't say another word, just watches us board the hovercraft. We snag seats next to each other, and sit hand-in-hand, sizing up our competition. Little Scarlett sits on my other side, and she gives me a cheery wave. The Careers all sit together too, and a woman moves down the line with a big needle. I hate needles.

"Give me your arm," the woman says to Scarlett.

"Why?" the little thirteen-year-old says, brows raised, "what are you putting in my system?"

The woman sighs. "It's your Tracker."

Scarlett holds out her arm. I'm next. I hold out my arm and shut my eyes. After a short stab of pain, my arm feels fine. There's no track of the tracker aside from a faint glow for a couple of seconds.

Haymitch squeezes my hand, and the hovercraft takes off. We're flying.


xXxXx


When we arrive at our destination, we're all forced apart, taken to our separate Launch Rooms. Before we disembark the hovercraft, Haymitch kisses me once.

"I'll see you in the Arena," he whispers.

"Not funny," I whisper back.

He smirks. "Stick with me, alright?"

"Like glue." I assure him, and then two Peacekeepers are leading him in one direction and me in another.

Apple's already in the Launch Room, waiting for me.

"Did Perrie give you any smart words?" he asks. I think he's being sarcastic.

"The usual," I reply.

Apple scowls. "That's why Tributes always die," he mutters flatly.

"Don't worry. Haymitch and I have a plan," I say, smiling.

We sit and talk for a few minutes. When the woman's voice over the intercom tells me to step onto my metal plate within sixty seconds, Apple tears up again.

"I'll come home, maybe," I say, lying through my teeth for him.

He grins at me, swiping at the traitor tears. "Don't lie, princess, it ruins your angle," he grins, kisses my cheek, and then lifts me onto the metal plate. This should annoy me – I'm not weak – but I find it oddly comforting.

"Haymitch would kill you," I say, smirking.

Apple laughs. "I'd gladly fight him for your heart, princess," he says simply.

The glass has lowered, so even if I had words to say, I couldn't say them. Instead, I held the three middle fingers of my left hand to my lips then held them out to him. He returns my gesture just as my metal plate begins to move.

For fifteen seconds I stand, disorientated and in total darkness, mind reeling. Apple loves me. I think. But I can't focus on that now. I touch the braid containing the ribbon with his name embroidered on it. I'll make you proud, I think to myself.

Sunlight bombards my vision. Ugh. It's so bright! I'm nearly at ground level.

I squint as the plate rises into the arena.

Finally, the plate stops moving and the glass is gone. I open my eyes and take in my surroundings in wonder. The arena is beautiful. We're in a meadow, with lush green grass, yellow flowers, blue sky, and a shiny gold Cornucopia in the middle. Each of us, the forty-eight of us, are standing on a metal plate, equidistant from the Cornucopia. To my delight, Haymitch is next to me. He glances over at me.

My hand. Run, he mouths to me.

Deal, I mouth back.

I count down in my head.

5

4

3

2

1

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


xXxXx


I thought this was a good place to leave this chapter. The idea of Apple loving Anya kind of bombarded me at the last minute… Poor guy. *sob*

Reviews would be lovely.

Neve.