The party can not end fast enough for me...I hate the excess, the noise, the endless babblings about petty things, the vain egos of the Capitol elite.
Peeta and I try to stay to ourselves, try to sit in a corner and avoid everything but we are constantly sought out by people who want to congratulate us, talk to is about their excitement for our wedding, or pose for pictures.
Peeta keeps his arm locked around my waist and as the night goes on I can't tell if it's to protect me for the Capitol hands or if it's to support me so that I don't snap and go off on the next person to talk to me. I rest my head in the crook of his shoulder and twirl the ring on Peeta's finger.
"Katniss I 'm so sorry to bother you but there's someone I'd like you to meet." I look up and I see a large man who I swear I've seen somewhere before. "This is Plutarch Heavensbee, the new Head Gamemaker."
He offers a hand to Peeta and they shake. "Would you mind of I stole Katniss for a dance Mr. Mellark?" He smile and I cringe on the inside while trying to maintain my outward composure.
Peeta seems to recover his camera ready smile, a fake expression that I have come to dislike because it's not the warm, soft, loving smile that makes his eyes light up it's a smile that make him look like a puppet on a too tight string.
"Of course Mr. Heavensbee but only for a dance or two, anything more and I'll have to come after you to get her back." They both laugh and Peeta hands me over.
I don't want to dance with him but Portia must have had a good reason for bringing him over to meet us so I go along with his request for a dance, I know that Peeta will not take his eyes off of me for a moment.
I don't want to feel his hands, one resting against mine, one on my hip. I do not like being touched. My mother or Prim, Hazelle and the kids, and Gale...these use to my only contact before the games. Since the Games I have extended this circle to include my prep team, our stylists, Effie, and even Haymitch.
Lastly Peeta, his touch is in a circle all it's own. His touch is a thing that I value above all others because it convays a love that makes me feel special and reminds me of the safe warmth of my father's embrace. My father would have like Peeta.
I rank Gamemakers somewhere below maggots in terms of creatures I want in contact with my body and I have to resist the urge to vomit with every turn we make.
"Your Games where my first it was quite an event for me but I have been careful to avoid punch since training." He says and I have no idea what it could mean until it hits me. "Oh I see now. You where the one who fell into the punch bowl when I shot that stupid pig."
"So Head Gamesmaster, must be a big honor for your second year in the Games?"
"Well there wasn't much of a fight for the position." Yeah the last one ended up dead.
"Are you planning the Quarter Quell Games already?"
"Oh, yes. Well, they've been in the works for years, of course. Arenas aren't built in a day. But the, shall we say, flavor of the Games is being determined now. Believe it or not, I've got a strategy meeting tonight," he says.
Plutarch steps back and pulls out a gold watch on a chain from a vest pocket. He flips open the lid, sees the time, and frowns. "I'll have to be going soon." He turns the watch so I can see the face. "It starts at midnight."
"That seems late for..." I say, but then something distracts me. Plutarch has run his thumb across the crystal face of the watch and for just a moment an image appears, glowing as if lit by candlelight. It's another mockingjay. Exactly like the pin on my dress. Only this one disappears. He snaps the watch closed.
"That's very pretty," I say.
"Oh, it's more than pretty. It's one of a kind. If anyone asks about me, say I've gone home to bed. The meetings are supposed to be kept secret. But I thought it'd be safe to tell you."
"Yes. Your secret's safe with me," I say. As we shake hands, he gives a small bow, a common gesture here in the Capitol. "Well, I'll see you next summer at the Games, Katniss. Best wishes on your engagement."
I feel Peeta's arms lock around my waist from behind and I tilt my head to the side and he snickers as his lips place feather light kisses to the exposed flesh. "I can't wait to get back on the train...to get you out of this dress and bury myself inside of you." I smile and his teeth lightly nip at the skin causing me to moan. "Come with me we're wanted at the dessert table."
Bakers have come in from the kitchen especially to talk frosting with him, and you can see them tripping over one another to answer his questions. They all talk about how honored they'd be to design our cake or have a private session.
At Peeta's request, they assemble an assortment of little cakes and contact cards for him to take back to District 12, where he can examine their work in quiet. "Effie said we have to be on the train at one. I wonder what time it is," he says, glancing around.
"Almost midnight," I reply. I pluck a chocolate flower from a cake with my fingers and nibble on it, so beyond worrying about manners.
"Time to say thank you and farewell!" trills Effie at my elbow. It's one of those moments when I just love her compulsive punctuality.
We collect Cinna and Portia, and she escorts us around to say good-bye to important people, then herds us to the door. "Shouldn't we thank President Snow? It's his house."
"Oh, he's not a big one for parties. Too busy," says Effie. "I've already arranged for the necessary notes and gifts to be sent to him tomorrow. There you are!" Effie gives a little wave to two Capitol attendants who have an inebriated Haymitch propped up between them.
We travel through the streets of the Capitol in a car with darkened windows. Behind us, another car brings the prep teams. The throngs of people celebrating are so thick it's slow going. But Effie has this all down to a science, and at exactly one o'clock we are back on the train and it's pulling out of the station.
Haymitch is deposited in his room. Cinna orders tea and we all take seats around the table while Effie rattles her schedule papers and reminds us we're still on tour. "There's the Harvest Festival in District Twelve to think about. So I suggest we drink our tea and head straight to bed." No one argues.
The next day is a blur of Effie giving us protocol on how to do just about everything and the prep team torturing me until I am there idea of perfection wrapped in a shiny silver dress. I have some time to kill before the party begins so I go looking for Madge.
Madge's bedroom is on the second floor along with several guest rooms and her father's study. I stick my head in the study to say hello to the mayor but it's empty.
The television's droning on, and I stop to watch shots of Peeta and me at the Capitol party last night. Dancing, eating, kissing. This will be playing in every household in Panem right now. The audience must be sick to death of the Star Crossed Lovers from District 12. I know I am.
I'm leaving the room when a beeping noise catches my attention. I turn back to see the screen of the television go black. Then the words "UPDATE ON DISTRICT 8" start flashing.
Instinctively I know this is not for my eyes but something intended only for the mayor. I should go. Quickly. Instead I find myself stepping closer to the television. An announcer I've never seen before appears. It's a woman with graying hair and a hoarse, authoritative voice. She warns that conditions are worsening and a Level 3 alert has been called. Additional forces are being sent into District 8, and all textile production has ceased.
They cut away from the woman to the main square in District 8. I recognize it because I was there only last week. There are still banners with my face waving from the rooftops. Below them, there's a mob scene.
The square's packed with screaming people, their faces hidden with rags and homemade masks, throwing bricks. Buildings burn. Peacekeepers shoot into the crowd, killing at random. I've never seen anything like it, but I can only be witnessing one thing. This is what President Snow calls an uprising.