Back again!

I have posted an extra chapter of this fic on my tumblr blog, seblamistheword, so check it out if you wish :)

Thanks for sticking around

Liz xxx

Chapter 25 - The Introduction Of The Victors

All of us sat together to watch the reapings. Now that all the tributes had arrived, it was deemed 'safe' to broadcast the results to the other districts. The attempt to keep Blaine and I apart had been futile, but they had tried. I was reluctant to give up my protective hold on Blaine, but he insisted that Stacey sit in my lap again. As I discussed and complimented her nails, her telling me stories of Portia and how nice she really was, I felt arms slip around my waist and leant back into the touch.

Haymitch seemed very interested in the events so sat right near the screen, nodding and making notes when each one was revealed. Blaine's reaping brought a shiver down my spine – he was presented in chains and the audience booed and jeered when his name was called. Turning towards him, I saw the pain in his eyes, the memories of his torture, and kissed his hand gently. The other girl from his district seemed a little put out to have to share the space with him, but she looked strong.

"Lydia." Haymitch said, obviously thinking back to the tapes we had watched. "She won her Games three years ago. A desert wasteland."

The District 2 reaping saw two of the most powerful looking tributes I had seen. Both with dark skin, their eyes seemed alive with fire, ready to kill. The male tribute I knew was called Titus, but the female I imagined had only ever appeared in my nightmares. Districts 4 and 5 brought four similar looking tributes to the stage. Linus had won his Hunger Games by drowning his opponents in deep water, Felicity – or 'Fizz' as she was commonly known – had electrocuted them. Hunter, from District 8, seemed a similar age to me, having won his Games when he was just fourteen, but Jethro and Camille from District 11 were both in their forties. As more and more faces flashed across the screens, more memories of victories, of maulings and massacres filled my brain – I began to realise the monstrosity of the task ahead of me.

As my face flickered onto the screen, everyone went silent. We all knew what was coming, what we would have to witness. As my name was called I noticed Haymitch's face waver slightly. Was that relief? Or anguish? Glancing over at his present face I saw no change, but knew something had stirred in his brain. Effie's meltdown was made out by the commentators to be comedic – they treated her like a ditzy young woman, overcome by the success of her district. When the second bowl was revealed everyone gasped and discussed they controversy this would bring, how the newly selected tribute would be at a severe disadvantage to the others. As Effie was carried off the stage, commotion rife, and Stacey's name revealed, I closed my eyes.

"My my!" The sound of destruction filled the air, crashing and screaming – my voice above all others.

"That is not the sound of a happy tribute!" Claudius Templesmith said.

"Well, he can't be very happy." The other commentator replied. "He has just been asked to fight against his sister! Such a young girl, what a turn of events!"

"You have to wonder if he will try and protect her." Claudius continued. Something inside me began to rise, a growing anger that bubbled in my gut. "Surely she cannot be that strong, and against a field of seasoned victors one has to wonder if he will simply leave her behind, or move on to protect his mate…" The restraint inside me snapped. Jumping to my feet I surprised everyone, my face red with anger.

"HOW CAN THEY SAY THAT?" I shouted. "HOW CAN THEY DISCUSS US LIKE ANIMALS? LIKE THIS IS A GAME?"

"You have to ignore their comments." Effie said hastily, trying to absorb the tension. "They are simply doing it for the viewe-"

"-SHE IS MY SISTER!" The words rang out, echoing around the room and almost shaking the glass of the triple glazed windows. "She is my sister, and I will not abandon her." As I stalked out of the room I began to hear the beginning of damage control – Blaine reaching out a comforting hand to stop Stacey from following me. My hands shook with rage, but I forced open the door to my room and slammed it shut, slumping down against the wall on the other side and sobbing.

Nobody disturbed me for a few minutes and I was glad for that. I knew I should be spending time with Blaine, coaching Stacey on what was ahead of us, what she would have to do, but I couldn't. The struggle with juggling them both along with my fragile emotions, was too much. Burying my head between my legs, I tried to focus on the few things I needed to do. Pull myself together, get us all through the Games. And kill President Snow.

As we ascended back down to the stylist rooms my tears had been wiped away and replaced with a solid, emotionless look. Blaine had returned to his district quarters and I imagined would be punished for his misbehaviour. The fact they were treating him like a dog, that they were not letting him train or participate so his people could watch him die, made me sick. But I fought through it, keeping the mask on.

My outfit from Cinna was of course, masterful. As I stared back at my reflection in the mirror I realised I looked different every time. My body was like a liquid, constantly changing and adapting to fit its surroundings.

"Stacey will be dressed the same." My stylist said, making a few last minute adjustments to the hems of my jacket. "You two need to put on an united front. You are not here to please the Capitol. You are here to win."

As my sister and I convened by the chariots I was taken aback at her beauty. The plain but powerful nature of the designs meant that every strong feature of hers was highlighted.

"You are beautiful." I whispered as she threw her arms around me again. "Mother would be proud."

"I am proud to have a brother like you." She whispered back.

We were ushered into position. Effie crowed repeatedly over how wonderful we looked and Haymitch simply smiled at the obvious dissension.

"Did you not want to follow the coal route this time?" He asked Cinna.

"Nope." My stylist replied, flashing me a grin that I returned. Once we were firmly placed on the chariot, I crouched down so my face was level with my sisters.

"Listen carefully." I said. "When these doors open, there are going to be thousands of people. People who don't care about us, but pretend they do. Don't listen when they scream your name, don't smile or wave at them. Look forward and think of home, think of Mother and Stevie and everyone that is watching us." Stacey's lip trembled. Her hands were clutching onto the front of the chariot but I could see them shaking.

"Sam…" She said. "I'm scared."

"Don't be." I replied, standing up straight again so my figure towered over her. "I'll be right behind you."

As the doors opened the roar of the stadium filled the room. Stacey shuddered so I held tightly onto her shoulders, keeping her in place. As the chariots in front of us moved forward I glanced over at Cinna, him and Haymitch standing together, watching us.

"Look straight, stand tall…" Effie said to us, her smile wide and bright. "Enjoy yourself!" As the District 11 chariot pulled away I looked to my stylist again. He nodded – our signal.

"Do it." Quickly I moved to stand behind Stacey. She seemed surprised but then I placed my hands on her shoulders and whispered in her ear.

"I'm right behind you."

The chariot pulled out and we descended into the melee. Out of all of the tributes – these were the ones everyone wanted to see most. Immediately shouts began to come our way.

"SAM!"

"STACEY!"

"OVER HERE!"

"SMILE FOR US!" Stacey seemed terrified, her whole body shaking as we moved forward, the bumping of the chariot making her rock back and forth slightly.

"Remember home." I whispered again, gritting my teeth together. Slowly as we continued down the procession people began to realise our outfits. Both of us had been dressed in white, complete white. The colour had nothing to do with our district – nothing was white in District 12 – but it represented us. Clean. Pure. We were family and we would not be tainted by the Games. I could see many people beginning to chatter, to point with their fingers and looked shocked. Our faces appeared on the screens and I held tightly onto Stacey's shoulders, my face stern. They wanted to mess with my family? Well we would mess with them. As we reached the middle part of the run and took a deep breath, reaching for the minute remote Cinna had placed in my pocket just before we left. My finger pressed down on the button and suddenly things began to happen. The material on the left side of Stacey's dress began to redden. My sister looked up at me, horror on her face. It looked like she had been stabbed, the red wound growing and growing – staining her beautiful outfit. Glancing across at my left hand side I saw the mark growing on me too. The audience were aghast. What was happening? As we pulled up to the main square I saw the podium where President Snow sat, watching the procession. People would obviously be notifying him of what was happening – what would he be thinking? By the time we drew to a halt in front of everybody, the other tributes gazing open mouthed at us, our wounds had been completed. Red hearts – right where our real ones would be. A vow that nothing anyone could ever bring – not even death – would keep us apart.

The announcement was made, our introduction to the crowds and the cheers that rang in my ears. As I felt Stacey's heart pound through my fingertips I reached up to my heart shaped wound, feeling the red blood-like solution on the tips of my fingers. Covering my entire hand, I turned to the seat of President Snow, locking eyes with him despite the distance.

And then I raised my hand, my bloodstained, dripping hand, in a salute.