The present day chapters are turning out rather short... Hopefully this one will be exciting enough to make up for it =)
"This evening, fifteen minutes after the anthem has played, a feast will be held at the cornucopia."
I pull my feet up on the couch, wrapping my arms around my pyjama-clad legs. Peeta and I have gotten ready to go to bed once the anthem had played but I don't think he will be enough at ease to go to sleep now any more than I will. A feast will bring possibilities but also dangers and if one or both our tributes go it might become an intense evening. I feel a tight knot in my stomach at the thought of Tommy going there. I don't want to see him in a scuffle with another tribute. In fact I wouldn't mind if he spent the entirety of the rest of the Games in hiding even though that wouldn't be considered an honourable victory.
"There will be only one item served at this feast" continues Claudius' voice. "Whoever gets it will have a distinct advantage over his or her competitors. Good luck."
"It's far too early in the Game to have a feast" mumbles Peeta, worry in his voice.
"No it's happened this early before" answers Haymitch, his voice a touch distant as he stares at the screen. "Not very common, though. Especially not with this kind of arena where they have plenty of excitement from the get-go."
I look over at the large clock on the wall. Forty-five minutes until the anthem will play, consequently an hour until the feast is held. That's a long time to wait when you're a mentor or a family member but when you're a tribute it's a short time to decide if you're willing to put your life on the line to get whatever it is they're offering.
"It's not just the feast so early on that's unusual" comments Peeta. "Having just the one item is something I can't remember seeing before. What kind of an advantage do you think it will be?"
"Night-vision goggles?" I suggest.
"They've done one-item feasts before, though now it's been many years" says Haymitch. "Night-vision goggles could be it but I'm guessing it's a weapon of some sort or possibly a large bag of food and drink supplies."
Peeta grabs the remote and switches to Tommy's channel. He shows no reaction to Claudius' message at first. He walks carefully down a corridor with black marble walls. The different walls in different tunnels at first seemed to be guides to the tributes, helping them keep track of which tunnels hold traps and which tunnels hold hiding places or supply stations, but as usual with the gamemakers things aren't that simple. The difference in walls have two purposes, none of which is to help the tributes. The first purpose is to help the viewers keep track of the various tunnels and to be able to spot if more than one tribute or groups of tributes are in the same corridor. The other is to trick the tributes into a false sense of security or knowledge about the arena. The gamemakers can at any time they choose activate the traps prepared for that tunnel or set up a supply station, meaning no tunnel stays the same for long and consequently no tunnel is ever safe.
Eventually Tommy stops walking and takes a seat on the ground. He picks up a few rocks from the ground and looks them over, finally settling on one that's slightly larger than his closed fist. He takes the scythe from its place on his belt and begins to sharpen the blade with a determined look on his face.
"He's going to go, isn't he?" says Peeta.
"How will they even find the cornucopia in time?" I question. They have no idea what time of day it is, with the exception of Digit, the girl from District 3, who received an old-fashioned wristwatch as a sponsor gift. Fifteen minutes seems like an awful short amount of time for the tributes to be able to find their way to the cornucopia through the giant maze once the national anthem has played.
"They'll think of some way of leading them there" says Haymitch calmly, leaning back with his arms crossed over his chest. "No point in having a feast if nobody attends."
"Unless whatever item they're serving just lies there until someone stumbles upon it" remarks Peeta.
"Yeah but that doesn't offer much chance of carnage."
"Maybe they just enjoy the thought of seeing the tributes all race around like lost rats in the labyrinth, trying to find the right location" I comment dryly. "For added hilarity a few of them might even fall into traps!"
"No, they want as many of them as possible to be at the cornucopia when the feast begins" says Haymitch, still completely calm. "They want them all to know what the special object is, especially if it turns out to be a weapon."
"Well, I can't sit here and think about it while we wait" I say, getting up from the couch. "I'm going to get some hot milk. Peeta?"
"I'm staying here" he says.
"You never offer to bring me beverages" teases Haymitch.
"There are a lot of things I do for him that I don't do for you" I reply suggestively, making Peeta turn his head and give me a slightly surprised, and actually a bit entertained, look. "Besides, the last thing you need is more fluids in your system. Your kidneys work overtime as it is."
I walk from the sitting room to the dining area, deciding halfway there to stop by our bedroom first and get my robe. I seem to feel cold a lot these days, a fact that is not helped by the current lack of body hair. Robe nicely wrapped around me I go to get my hot milk and hopefully find some measure of calm before the shit hits the fan.
Lavinia, still our avox after all these years, brings me the steaming hot mug and I carefully take it between my hands, putting my feet up on the chair beside the one I'm sitting on. I blow on the hot liquid absentmindedly, trying to will away the anxious knot in my stomach. What is Tommy going to do? What is Sally going to do? What will the item be at the feast and what will happen once somebody gets their hands on it?
I deeply wish Tommy will stay away from the cornucopia, though I don't hold it for very likely since he's sharpening his scythe. I would like Sally to stay safe as well though it wouldn't be all that terrible if she at least showed up at the feast, keeping away from the scuffle but making her presence known to the viewers. She's in danger of slipping below everyone's radar at the current rate and unless she's got something up her sleeve a la Johanna Mason then she needs to start calling attention to herself. It's only going to get more difficult to win her much needed sponsorship if she doesn't do anything to stand out from the crowd.
I end up so lost in my thoughts that I barely notice that I finish my mug of milk and I lose track of the time. A soft hand on my shoulder jolts me back to the moment and I turn my head to see Lavinia standing there, a silent reminder that the evening broadcast is about to begin. Quickly I get to my feet, setting the empty mug down on the table with a bang, and hurry out to the sitting room where Peeta and Haymitch have been joined by Emalda and the stylists.
Quietly I slip down on the couch beside Peeta, pulling my feet up underneath me, my eyes glued to the television. Claudius and Caesar begin their broadcast with their usual vigour, something one must envy them of seeing as how they've got to be closer to 100 than 50, and tonight I find their mindless babble even more frustrating and annoying than usual. I don't care about these two buffoons or anything they have to say. I want to get this part of the program over with so we can get to the feast.
The stylists chat with a reluctant Emalda, discussing theories about the feast, and I can barely keep myself from snarling at them to shut the hell up. I steal a look at Peeta every few minutes and always find him staring intently at the screen, looking like he's absorbing every word. I look over at Haymitch who is leaned back against the cushions nursing a tumbler filled with orange juice, making a disgruntled face each time he takes a sip and is reminded that there's no alcohol in the glass.
"And now finally…" says Caesar at last. "The moment we have all been waiting for! Claudius will you do the honours of announcing the start of the feast?"
"It will be my pleasure!"
"Here we go…" I say under my breath, wrapping my robe tighter around me as if that would protect me from anything bad that might be unfolding in the arena in the next few minutes.
The screen fills with images of the cornucopia and Claudius' voice addresses the tributes, welcoming them to the feast. Not a single person can be seen, which is usually how it goes when the feasts are begun. An electronic humming noise breaks through the silence and a hatch opens on the ground, allowing for a large wooden table to be lifted into the arena. On top of the table lies the item the tributes will be fighting over.
"Oh gross" groans Peeta, turning his face away.
I stare in wordless horror at the item on the table. It's not night-vision goggles nor is it food or drink supplies. It's a weapon but I cannot for the life of me figure out how this particular weapon could be a huge advantage. It is, however, a distinctively awful and cruel-looking weapon that would most definitely bring me to terror if I was a tribute in the arena. It's a halberd, somewhere between 1.5 and 2 meters long, its silvery surface shining under the spotlight the gamemakers shine on it. I've never seen one in the Games before, in fact I wouldn't even know what it was called if Caesar and Claudius hadn't excitedly informed us viewers.
"He's not going to go for that" says Haymitch calmly. "Neither one of our tributes is. They know they have little use for a weapon like that."
"That's true of Tommy, he has that awful scythe" I say. "Sally, on the other hand, is unarmed."
"And unlikely to risk her life for a weapon that's probably too heavy for her to wield effectively anyway" argues Haymitch. "How much do you think that thing weighs? Four, five kilos? Doesn't sound like much perhaps but that girl hasn't had a lot to eat in the arena and the weight of it will be more of a hassle than it's worth. If you can't put it to effective use then there's no point dragging it around."
"I hope you're right" I mumble under my breath. I know it would be good for Tommy if Sally went for the halberd and got herself killed but I can't actively wish for her death. Especially not on the other end of that horrible weapon, which bring another thought to mind. "Someone will end up with it though and she might figure that it's better being the one wielding it than the one killed by it."
"Hush!" says Peeta sharply. "We're about to find out what they'll do anyway so keep your mouths shut all of you so we can focus."
He leans forward on the couch and squints a bit, watching the events unfolding on the screen. For almost a full minute nobody goes for the weapon but the main feed gives us close-ups of several tributes hiding in various corridors with their eyes glued on the halberd. Tommy is among them. Sally is not.
Unsurprisingly it's a career tribute that moves first. Mara, the girl from One, darts from her hiding place and sprints towards the weapon but just a second after she's moved the boy from Eight, a tall and strong kid named Jacob Loom, begins a sprint as well. She reaches the weapon first but he is bigger and stronger and tackles her with little effort, sending her flying to the ground. He's got a hold of the weapon before she can get up and with seemingly little effort he moves to stab her with it. Suddenly he grunts in pain and I notice a sharp, almost star-shaped object sticking out from his shoulder-blade. The camera quickly shows the girl from Four smirking and preparing to throw another one to finish the job. Despite the pain Jacob hurls the halberd at Mara and kills her with it, the weapon producing a sickening sound when it enters her body.
Two other career tributes come darting out to finish him off, the girl from Four and the boy from One, both of them screaming in rage. The remaining two career tributes exit their corridor but stay close to the wall, ready to jump in if their help is needed but for the time being holding on to the three large backpacks full of supplies they have gathered. Jacob doesn't wait around to continue the fight, he darts off into a tunnel at random, knocking into Wheaton, the boy from Eleven, sending both of them flying to the ground. They stare at each other for a second, then Wheaton leaps to his feet, pulls the star-shaped object out of Jacob's body and runs off down the corridor. Jacob manages to crawl further into the corridor, grasping the halberd in his left hand, and then get up on his feet before the career tributes can catch up with him. All the while he's got a pained expression on his face, each movement exacerbating the pain from his wound, but he manages to keep it together.
While all this is going on the two careers who stayed behind emerge further into the cornucopia area. Suddenly Tommy comes racing out from his corridor, the commotion covering the sounds of his steps. Before the careers can react he grabs the backpack that Shimmer is holding and continues his run, the force of his movement sending her spinning around. She yelps angrily but Tommy stops and jams the scythe through her neck. Her hand lets go of the backpack and goes to the gaping wound he delivered but he doesn't stay to watch her die. He races off with the backpack in his hands and through sheer luck none of the other career tributes follow. They all seem startled that the casualties of the feast have been two of their group and in the commotion they can't agree on whether they should go after Jacob or Tommy, nor do they get the idea to split up.
"Let's get out of here, now!" growls Maximus finally, still cradling a now lifeless Shimmer in his arms. He sets her down somewhat gently and flies to his feet, wiping her blood off his hands on the fabric of his pants. Then he leads the remaining group down the hallway they came from.
There's a moment of silence, as if the gamemakers are waiting to see if anyone else will emerge and do something exciting, and then two cannon shots are heard. I become aware that my heart is pounding in my chest and Peeta closes his eyes hard, letting out a strangled groan.
I give him a glance and know that we are thinking the same thing. Our nephew has blood on his hands now. So do Peeta and I and everyone else who has ever won the Games but it's still a difficult moment. A large part of Tommy's innocence just died with that girl from District 2 and there's no getting around that.
Haymitch leans over and grabs the remote, switching to Tommy's feed. He is running and keeps going until he reaches a fork in the road. He chooses the left passageway and continues twenty-or-so meters down that way before stopping. He's panting heavily, the backpack flung over his shoulders and the blood stained scythe still in his hand. He swallows hard, looks down at the weapon and his eyes widen in horror. It falls to the ground with a clang and then he falls to his knees, braces his hands against the dirt ground and empties the contents of his stomach. His eyes are closed hard and when he's done vomiting he begins to mumble something under his breath.
I can't make it out exactly but it sounds like "I've murdered someone, I've murdered someone, I've murdered someone".
Peeta sits on the edge of the bed, his fingers gripping the mattress so hard that his knuckles have turned a shade of white. His head is tilted slightly downward and he stares aimlessly ahead, probably not seeing whatever is in his line of sight. I'm sitting cross-legged at the head of the bed, my robe still pulled tightly around my body. Tommy eventually fell asleep, trebling and from the looks of it barely keeping the tears at bay. I suppose the upside is that we'll be having an easier time procuring sponsors for him after his stunt today but I cannot help wondering if it was worth the price.
Unable to sit still any longer I shift on the bed and shimmy out of the robe. I move down to where Peeta sits and drape the piece of clothing over his shoulders, barely getting a reaction from him. Then I get down on the floor and take a few steps towards the bathroom before stopping. I begin to pace back and forth, going from left to right in Peeta's view if he's seeing me at all. I cannot think about Tommy right now and the blood that is on his hands. If I do I'll go mad. I distract myself by worrying about that other tribute of ours, the one who was a no-show, the one whose name everyone is probably starting to forget.
"I cannot believe she didn't show up!" I say with exasperation, throwing my hands out. "I cannot believe she didn't show up! Not even to find out what was going to unfold! Damn it! She needs to get her face on the screens. Something interesting needs to happen to her. She needs to take some damn initiative!"
I look over at Peeta and find him glaring up at me from underneath his bangs.
"Disappointed that she's not a murderess yet?" he asks dryly.
"She's not even going to have to worry about finding herself on the wrong end of that new shiny weapon if she doesn't do anything that helps us get her some damn sponsors soon because she's going to starve and dehydrate and probably freeze and otherwise get herself drop-kicked into non-existence by exposure" I rant.
"She's doing good" says Peeta tiredly. "She probably has something planned."
"You've said that about every single tribute we've had whose been this inactive and so far you've been right exactly zero times."
"I'm due for a win, then" he says with a lot of irritation.
I stop and shake my head furiously, groaning with frustration. Nothing is going the way I would like for it to. I need to find some outlet for all this pent-up aggravation but something tells me that the only sure-fire way I know of is not an option at present. I know my husband well enough to be sure that he would give me a look like I was crazy if I walked up to him now and straddled him. I can't help it though. I want him. I want him to help me get some release and to anchor me and to give me the only reassurance I can find that things will turn out okay in the end. Moreover I want to be able to help him, to make him feel better and less conflicted, to ease the pain in his heart. I know I could do it if he would only let me but he's not going to allow that. Not tonight. Probably not during these entire Games, if the choice is up to him.
So instead I walk to the bathroom and begin to splash my face with cold water over and over again. I don't stop until my hands are starting to feel numb and then I grab the nearest towel, Peeta's, and dry my face. I carefully avoid looking at my own reflection in the mirror as I brush my teeth with angry motions. When I'm done I grab Peeta's toothbrush and add toothpaste to it, running it quickly underneath the faucet. Holding the toothbrush in my hand I walk back out to him.
"Tomorrow's going to be a fun day" I say, my voice dripping with sarcasm. "The career mentors are going to just love us."
"To hell with them, they've mentored more tributes that have killed a tributes of ours than I care to count to." He gives me an odd look when I stop in front of him and hold out his toothbrush. "What's this?"
"It's for your mouth, dear" I say dryly.
He takes it and begins to brush, moving to the bathroom as he does. My robe is still draped over his shoulders and I notice he's moved it to sit better. While he's in the bathroom I move aside the bedspread and the comforter, getting up on the bed and sitting down in the middle with my arms wrapped around my knees. Peeta comes back after a few minutes, having used the bathroom before turning off the lights and closing the door. He looks so weary and it's almost like seeing an older version of the boy in the arena who now sleeps with a bloody scythe hidden under his shoulder. A shiver runs through me when I think of how easily Peeta could have been the older version of a boy in the arena – how his and my son could have been forced to undergo those horrors. Yet again I think of how much it hurts to see our nephew in there and how much worse it must be when it's your own child. To see your own offspring going through all the things a tribute cannot avoid going through if they are to stand a chance at winning.
"It had to happen at some point, Peeta" I hear myself saying in a surprisingly calm voice. "There has never been a Hunger Games victor who didn't kill anybody in the arena." I pause for a second. "You and I both have a kill count of two."
"Tommy isn't like us." He walks over and lets the robe drop, catching it on the way and laying it over the foot of the bed. He plops down on his back beside me, sighing heavily, and rests his head on his hands. "He's softer, gentler."
"You're about as kind and gentle as they come" I reply, fighting to resist the urge to reach out my hand and let my fingers play with the now hairless skin that is visible above the V-neck of his pyjama jacket.
"It's different with Tommy" he objects, shaking his head. "I knew I was going to have to do it. I went into the arena with a plan, one that included being accepted by the careers, which meant fighting it out at the cornucopia. I did it for a cause and I wasn't going to let that change me. Tommy on the other hand… He's going to be different now."
"He won't make it out alive if he isn't willing to do what he did today" I carefully point out. "Yes it will change him but if he gets out he will have you and me to help him. He doesn't have to end up like us."
"No…" says Peeta wistfully. "If he wins he'll end up like Finnick or Silver or Mach or…" Without completing the sentence he reaches out and pulls the string that turns the light on his nightstand off. He then sits up and grabs the comforter to pull it up over us. "We can't protect him. Not in the arena, not when – if – he gets out."
"Don't go there" I warn in a low voice, laying down and turning my own nightstand lamp off. "We'll cross that bridge later."
"It's impossible not to think about it" he mutters in response.
At first I think I will allow the conversation to end there. We are both tired and weary and need whatever amount of sleep we can get. The room feels unusually stuffy tonight, as if they've set the temperature higher than normal, and I can feel the sheets sticking to my body in an uncomfortable way. I feel restless despite my fatigue and I think Peeta feels the same way because he moves around several times as if having problems finding a comfortable sleeping position. After a while I decide the conversation might as well continue and perhaps we'll find it easier to sleep if we've gotten everything off our chests.
"Peeta, listen…" I say, shifting to lay on my side and face him. It's dark in the room and I can just barely make out the familiar silhouette of him. "Tommy will get past this. It's horrible, the same way the Games are horrible, but if there is any bright spot in the tributes being children it's that you adapt more easily when you're young."
"Adapt to what?" questions Peeta. There's an irritated tone in his voice that tells me he's been working himself up about this in his mind while we've been silent. "To violence? To murdering innocent people?"
"The tributes are murdered but not by their fellow tributes" I argue. "It's your life or theirs. Tommy's not going to kill anybody outside of the arena."
"No but he'll live forever with the knowledge that he took a life. I haven't forgotten the two I murdered. I still see their faces in my nightmares."
"But you are alive to have those nightmares. The bottom line is that Tommy's survival is what matters most."
"His survival means more than leaving the arena with a pulse" says Peeta, sounding upset. "What about his survival of self?"
I rarely know what to say when Peeta veers off into philosophical questions such as these and right now it frustrates me. I know that Peeta highly values holding on to yourself and not letting any outside force change you but I find that viewpoint to be far too rigid at times. Survival of the fittest means that you need to be able to adapt because the world around you changes. It's the person who can adapt who perseveres in the end.
"Getting him out of there alive is the only thing that matters" I say with emphasis. "Trust me, I would love for him to have been able to get through the experience without blood on his hands but if he is to win the Games that could never happen. We have to be realistic about this."
"He might have to pay an awful high price to be the winner" says Peeta gloomily. "How big of a price can be acceptable?"
"Any price" I say with conviction. "I wish he didn't have to pay one but it's unavoidable. The truth is that our goalposts for what is an acceptable price will continue to be moved as the Games continue because we know that none of the things he may have to sacrifice are worth so much that he ought to die for it."
Peeta sits up slowly, wrapping his arms around his knees. For several minutes he stares blankly head without saying anything, his chest rising and falling slowly with each breath. I watch him and wait for him to speak. He knows I'm right. There's no denying it. I hate that Tommy had to kill another tribute just as much as Peeta does but each dead tribute brings him one step closer to victory and there has never been a victor who didn't take at least one life.
"If you destroy too much of what was there at the start in order to save it, what have you actually saved?" says Peeta finally.
I frown, not quite understanding what he's getting at.
"I don't follow."
There's another slight pause.
"No I get that."
He throws the comforter to the side, cooler air hitting my body with the motion. Then he gets out of bed and I push myself up on my elbow and study him with a frown.
"What are you doing?"
"I won't be able to go to sleep" he says. "I'm going to get something to drink. Check in on Tommy."
"Tommy is asleep" I point out.
"Yeah but… I'd feel better watching over him. He trusts me not to abandon him."
"He knows you have to sleep too."
"All the same I'd… I'd feel better knowing that he's not alone." In the darkness I can see him bowing his head a touch. "I don't even know for sure who he will be when he wakes up in the morning. I would like to be there and watch over him tonight."
With that he leaves the room, a stream of light illuminating everything when he opens the door. I can see the weary look on his face and the dejected slump of his shoulders before the door closes and I'm left alone in the darkness. With a huff I lie back down and grab a pillow, pulling it closer to me and hugging it. Peeta Mellark can be so frustrating to me at times. There's this weird deep side to him that I can never seem to get a grasp of and never fully understand. It makes me feel stupid, truth be told, like I can't see things on the same level as he can. He never calls attention to it, doesn't seem to be aware of it even, but it aggravates me all the same.
The more I think about what he said tonight the more I start to wonder if he wasn't in fact saying that he will not prioritise Tommy's survival at any cost and while I don't understand what that might actually mean I don't like the idea of questioning his commitment. He can't give up now, cannot falter no matter what happens. Our nephew depends on him, his family back home in Twelve depend on him, I depend on him.
Peeta is going to have to pull himself together. Fast.