A/N: Here's the chapter, right on time! Yeah, I know two weeks is kinda long; even I feel like it is. :/ But I dunno if I can do weekly updates. Anyways, I've been working on some side stuff too, just to take a break from the mantra of Haymitch, Haymitch, Haymitch, but I sort of ended up doing a little piece connected to this one. Maybe I'll post it...someday.
And for some of you people who realized that some details aren't quite right, I haven't been going entirely by the Hunger Games book, I've almost picked some things from the movie. I use the parts that seem the most realistic (or just most interesting) to me.
Thankyouthankyouthankyou to Raissa, Norbert's Mom, KatPee81, awesome 3, Minto Labingi, and Emptyword for reviewing! It was lovely and inspiring and just plain awesome. I'm glad that you like the story. :)
It's weird how whenever I try to find someone it takes hours of wandering before I even get a clue to where they are, but whenever someone needs to speak to me I am easily found. Maybe I'm getting too predictable.
Honestly, if Cinna wasn't in his room, the styling rooms, the Games Headquarters, the District 12 room (although I'd doubted that one because I'd never seen him in there anyways), the drawing room, his office, and no one had seen him anywhere, then where was he?
I grimace. I knew deciding to look for the elusive stylist was not a good idea. But ever since that conversation with Finnick I wanted to talk to him — or at least see him — again.
After I'd woken up around 3 or 4 in the morning, unable to sleep after another restless nightmare, I planned to go banging on his door but he hadn't even been there, the room silent and door slightly ajar. So the rest of the morning was wasted wandering about looking for him to no avail.
Well isn't this great. I'm back where I started: at my room. I sigh and enter, flicking open the handheld television as I go. It turns on automatically, Katniss being featured. Claudius Templesmith's voice also comes on. "—ing. Katniss Everdeen is drastically dehydrated, she'll probably be dead within the day if she doesn't find water soon. Whaddya think, Caesar?"
The scene changes to a live conversation. "I rather liked her," says Caesar Flickerman mournfully. "She seemed like a wonderful girl."
"Yes, but the odds were not in her favor. She's definitely one of the smaller tributes and so far she doesn't seem to have any particular weaponry skills."
"She was very handy with that snare making though."
If only they knew. I wonder if they'd care about how she learned the skill? I doubt most of them would even realize that she hunted illegally.
"Very true. I would have liked for her to be in the final 8; perhaps we could have heard from her sister then."
"Yes..."
I'm ruffling through my drawers for no real reason when I see a gleam. I pull out the suit that I was wearing on that day that I sat down with Plutarch, and a pen falls out of its fold. That's funny. I could have sworn that I gave that pen to Cinna.
I pick it up and examine it more carefully. It doesn't seem any different. But when I click the end to try writing the code, a slip of paper falls out from a slit in the side. It contains only a few simple words.
Find District Thirteen.
I frown. District 13...? What? That didn't make any sense. I try just writing the KCS code instead, but when it activates it just hums and goes back to sleep even when I try telling it my name.
I put it down and wreck the rest of my room too, hoping to find a clue, all the while listening to Claudius's commentary.
"It seems that the star-crossed lovers never even had a chance," he is saying. "Their odds are not fortunate it seems. What do you think, you old romantic?"
Caesar chuckles. "They say that love trumps all. Perhaps they will pull through yet."
"Ah, well if you say so."
The desk's drawers are all yanked apart. I find a few sets of keys that seem to be from the Capitol, as they all bear the Capitol seal, and a blank notepad with a few pens, but nothing about District 13. I reflect on what I remember about the video on the decimation of District 13 they always showed us in school when I was younger, but twenty four years of drinking have dulled my memory somewhat.
"Well let's see what going on with Peeta then."
I glance at the screen. Peeta and the Careers are travelling slightly in Katniss direction but I am slightly less worried about them rather than Katniss's more immediate problem. The audio is turned on. "We haven't found anyone in days," one of the girls complains, most likely the one from 1, Glimmer. Belle, the girl from District Four is moodily quiet. It seems she has been since Markos was killed.
"We're bound to run into someone soon," mutters Marvel.
"And if we even if we don't the Gamemakers will drive someone towards us anyways," Cato affirms. "So don't worry; so long as we keep a certain perimeter every day we will run into someone."
I am surprised that the boy from District 2 can even sound so intelligent. He seemed like just a raging, carnal beast during the Bloodbath and like a dull-witted idiot whilst trying to insult Peeta and negotiate with him afterwards.
"They sound confident," comments Caesar. "Perhaps you should get a Gamemaker up here to ask about that."
"I was just about to suggest that!" says Claudius. "In fact, here he is."
There are sounds of cheering, then: "Thank you Claudius! I can't say how exciting it is to be here."
This time I actually turn to stare at the device. I pick it up and sit on the edge of the bed, immediately absorbed.
"Ladies and gentlemen, this is Gamemaker Plutarch Heavensbee!"
The camera sweeps over a crowd of cheering, adoring fans who all scream for attention.
"Tell me Plutarch, what do you suppose the Careers meant by 'the Gamemakers will drive someone towards us anyways?' Would you really?"
Plutarch smiles winningly. "I can't say about Head Gamemaker Seneca Crane, but pushing tributes towards each other is one of the best parts of the Games."
Suddenly, I hear a slight rustling even through the sound of the blaring television. I freeze, automatically breathing more lightly, an instinctive nervous reaction from the victor of the 50th Hunger Games in which almost everything was poisonous.
Nothing happens, so I resume my previous task slightly more unnerved than before.
"Really?" says Claudius. "Tell me more."
Plutarch nods and clears his throat as if preparing for a long speech. The audience laughs at his theatrics. "Well first of all, watching the tributes interact is just fascinating; you must know about that, being the one always dissecting their relationships."
Claudius makes as if to answer but Plutarch just plows through him. "But let me tell you a secret: what people really want to see is a show, and I think that it's the Gamemakers' jobs to do that."
The crowd is silent and attentive, listening to his words. It's in this silence that I hear the rustling again. I spin around, dropping the screen.
"It's also quite a bit of fun to play God too," Plutarch adds, and there are a few chuckles although I'm not sure if he's trying to make a joke or not. "But we are always thinking of Panem's interests above all. The Hunger Games are a symbolic event and it's our job to make it that way."
Claudius nods solemnly. "Well then. Thank you Plutarch Heavensbee! We'll be calling you back in a half an hour for your formal review, but for now it's back to ."
Plutarch smiles and waves as he dismounts the steps, and polite cheers and applause follow. Thoughtfully, I switch channels, to something greener and softer than the harsh lights of the Capitol. Peeta. And Katniss. She travels still, but increasingly slowly. She hasn't showed any real signs of wear yet, but it was only a matter of time. Time... I change to the manual channel and spend a few moments checking out the other non-Career tributes.
District 3, the boy travels frightened, crouching as if he could make himself less visible to the camera that way. District 5, the girl with a mane of flaming red hair hides in the bushes near the lake, cunningly watching and waiting for any chance for her to sneak in for a drink. District 10, Hugo pulls himself into a tree with tremendous arm strength due to lack of the ability to gain a foothold to rob a bird's nest hanging precariously low. District 11, the girl is flitting through the trees like a squirrel, or a bird, the cause of her seven in training most likely, acting like she'd grown up among the branches. Which she probably had, to be fair. The giant boy is resting under cover of the tall grasses, unaware of the deadly poisonous snakes that nested idly near him. They were all barely surviving themselves, probably unable to take on the vicious Career pack.
Resigned to my previous task, I flip through a notepad, scanning it quickly for notes. Of course there are none. Just
"Find District 13." What was that supposed to mean? "Thirteen, thirteen," I mutter softly.
I catch a flash of green eyes and gold eyeliner out of the corner of my eye, just in time to hear, "Are you looking for something?"
I turn around slowly, saying, "Hello Cinna. It's not like I was trying to find you all morning or anything, but how are you?"
"Oh, it's no problem," he replies drolly, smiling. "I'm fine. Did you happen to be looking for something related to..."
I shrug. "District 13? Yeah, although I'd be hard pressed trying to find an entire District residing in my bedroom drawers."
"I'd imagine so," he replies solemnly. He looks around. "You still have that pen?"
"Yep. Dunno what you'd want with it though; I thought you had mine."
"Indeed I do. Come on then; I'll show you to where Plutarch is." He turns and gestures for me to follow, eyes lightening.
"No way in hell," I scoff, getting to my feet and crossing my arms. "Never said I trusted you again. I just want to talk."
He leans in against the wall, appearing to settle in for what would appear to be a long talk. One hand distractedly reaches up to touch the corner of his eye and he glances at it, as if to check that his makeup hasn't been smudged.
"So?"
I hesitate, breath catching uncomfortably. Now that I've found him all my previous ideas have mysteriously vanished. "What do you want?" I ask at last.
He shrugs. "You were the one looking for me."
"What did you mean?" I revise. "In our earlier conversation."
"Which one?"
He seems determined to pry the answer from me. I stand up, eyebrows knotting in irritation. "You know which one."
A little smile quirks at the edges of his lips and he stands up straighter, almost leaning forward in curiosity. "I knew it. I knew you could be on our side. Rebel," he adds. He nods, seeming to reassure himself, and his tone darkens.
"We can arrange a short meeting. Very soon. So long as you don't take a step out of line. You may be something valuable, and someone that I've almost had the privilege to call friend, but if you reveal him, then he's dead. And so are all of us."
"Us?" I raise an eyebrow. I wasn't liking the sound of this at all.
"It's dangerous business," he mutters. "Plutarch's interview won't be for a while yet. We'll have time, but not a lot. But we can't be seen."
"Where?"
"Right under the City Circle stage."
My eyes must have popped right out of my head. "What?"
"He can't move much farther away than that!"
"Too dangerous," I deny immediately. "I'll figure this out myself later. You people are crazy."
"It's safe," Cinna insists, walking up to me.
"There are cameras!"
In reply, he holds up a small device. I recognize it immediately. It's a small contraption, invented a few years ago by some District worker in Three. After attaching it to a camera lens, a person can program it to either display a picture, pre-recorded feed, or a replay of certain events. Conveniently, it also tampers with the recording, so that if anyone cares to look at old feed the time in which the lens cap is being placed is wiped as well.
"Plutarch has another one on him. If I can just send him a signal, he can set it up now and arrange the meeting."
"You sound like his lap dog now," I grumble, but I can see that I am soon going to relent. "What happened?"
Cinna gives a half smile. "Do I? Plutarch is just the organizer so I have to refer to him a lot, but I answer to nobody." There is a reckless, rebellious look in his clear, green eyes.
"That's gonna get you killed someday, sonny," I reply, turning around to pick up a coat from the floor. "And don't give me any of that dying for a good cause crap. That's what naive, idealistic college kids say so that they can have a bit more fun in the late nights."
Cinna shakes his head. "No, I just believe that people need a channel for their emotions. Most people bottle them up, and ignore their natural repulsion to the world around them. It's only natural. But I think that if you can just let it go...well then."
"Then you get someone like you," I say. I almost felt bad for the man. "So show me where we're going."
It was a darker room than I had previously imagined. When one pictures the City Circle, it is usually full of glaring lights, cameras, and shouts of exhilaration. Some describe it as awesome. I describe it as possibly the most nauseating thing I've ever experienced, and that's saying something.
Therefore it's a welcome relief to find that the waiting room under the stage is dark and almost completely soundproofed. Sadly, cameras are something that cannot be avoided outright. But Cinna and I are able to dodge many of the camera on the way there. He knows all the less used passageways and how to use obstacles to block the views.
By the time we wind below the stage Plutarch has already set up the camera block and is motioning us in. He has a private room, which I am thankful for. I don't know if I can deal with other people right now.
Plutarch himself is dressed with a very theatrical cape, ink black and cockily swept around his broad shoulders. It shimmers vibrant colors, like an oil slick, as he stands up. I don't recall him wearing it during the interview when I'd seen him earlier. After commenting on it, he replies flippantly, "It's a new fashion." He leans forward to whisper more softly, "I wear 'new fashions' when it's safe to talk."
"Then why are you talking so quietly?" I reply in the same tone.
He straightens. "No such thing as being too careful," he says cautiously, eyes flicking around the room.
"You debugged everywhere already, I assume?" says Cinna, coming in behind me.
He nods. "And there doesn't seem to be anyone lurking about but one never knows."
"One never does," agrees Cinna.
I snort. "Well instead of standing around worrying about your inadequacies, why don't we get started? We're wasting time."
"True, but inadequacies could very well get you killed," mutters Plutarch, but he continues anyways. "As you wish. You've got five minutes, Abernathy." His arms cross defensively in front of his chest.
The rough way he address me is strangely unfamiliar. I suppose that all that cheeriness is just an act for the cameras, very much like how Finnick's game face was just for an audience as well. I'd never seen Plutarch in such a situation before, so part of me wanted to study it, analyze it for weaknesses and utterly exploit them, but the other part knew that there wasn't enough time for that. So I started. "What the hell does 'Find District 13' mean? Not the most subtle message, was it?"
Plutarch does give a slight chuckle to that. "Yes, I was rather excited about that one. I barely even considered code before sending it out. Code would have meant that it could takes days — weeks! — to decipher. This way sends much more clearly, and anyways, I know who has a pen. The people I give it to know how to keep it safe."
Momentarily distracted from my first topic, I say, "You sure? I would have just tossed mine in the trash. If someone found it you would have found yourself twisted up in one of those government plots to not only kill you, but to unseat you from your place of power in the end."
Plutarch shrugs. "I can disable it, and after that the tracking system on it is easy enough for me to send someone to find it and retrieve or destroy it. I can also turn the signal off from my phone, and all information is heavily encrypted unless you know the password, which changes on a daily or weekly basis."
"KCS...what does that stand for?"
Plutarch smiles. "It's not the password anymore anyways, but...KCS was just a little joke of mine. Stands for Kill—"
"Coriolanus Snow," I finish for him. "Gutsy."
"Thank you." The smirk still lingers on his face. "It's not always Morse code either, it's just that I often find that is the most convenient way to do it."
I rub my chin. Scratchy stubble clings to the end of it. "So District 13?"
His bright blue eyes grow serious. "Yeah. What do you know about it?"
"Not much— " I begin.
Cinna, who had been watching the time, interrupts. "Plutarch, we don't have much time. Just tell him."
My eyes glance to the clock. Four minutes had passed. "Fine. Talk."
He speaks quick and soft. "District 13 was never destroyed by bombs. It had always survived, through several methods that aren't important, but it had always been biding its time. Getting stronger and waiting. Now I've found out that it's formed a formidable rebellion."
"Much like yours." And Secrets, I add mentally.
"No. Much, much better," he says, almost doe-eyed. "They have a whole community committed to, well, this. It's quite amazing."
I can see how it would be. How could they not have been crushed by the Capitol already?
"You see, it had been rumored that District 13 specialized not in graphite, but in nuclear weaponry. So they did have a slight advantage in gaining something the Capitol had to hold a truce against. But they have invited us to join with them, because they need an insider who can provide high class information, and who better than us?"
"Minute's up," says Cinna tensely, and sure enough, after a few beat of silence you can hear the tell tale cheer of the crowd as another guest commentator descends the stage. "A commercial break, then you're next Plutarch. We ought to go."
I nod. I'd gotten what I'd come for.
