Disclaimer: I do not own or claim ownership to any content related to or included in the Hunger Games trilogy by Suzanne Collins. I write this story purely for my own enjoyment and the enjoyment of others, with no intent for making money.

Life Through Sea Green Eyes

Chapter Six

The 74th Hunger Games start up, and I'm regrettably one of the mentors. I try to switch out with Mikael, but my irritating fellow victor makes some excuse about having other obligations, and I give up with a sigh. Coral is the other mentor, which brightens my mood considerably, because not only is she a fairly decent person, she also happens to be part of the rebellion.

I escort Annie to the victor's area in the main square where the Reaping is going to take place, and then head up on stage to join Coral and Pompey. My old director is now pudgy and pink-bearded, a hideous look for him in my opinion, although his omnipresent smile indicates that he thinks otherwise. Once everyone is assembled in the square, Pompey raises his hands to quiet them, and proceeds with the Reaping.

My tribute, Jarvis, is possibly the most average contestant I have ever seen. He's 5'7", brown haired, brown eyed, normal build, plain face... when I shake hands with him on the train, my immediate thought is that he should just try to blend into the background. I think he could pull it off – the guy is so nondescript that I sometimes forget he's in the room. Coral gets a fifteen-year-old blonde girl with an overly large mouth named Marcie. She seems nice enough, but completely lacks the killer instinct.

"Good crop this year," I murmur to Coral, who shoots me a look. "What? Okay, that was a bit insensitive, I admit. I'm right, though. Neither of them is getting far."

Coral laughs softly. I'm getting pretty jaded by the whole Hunger Games experience, but she's progressed to the stage where everything just amuses her. "Ah well. Want to leave them to their own devices and go... you know?"

Of course I know. She's been propositioning me for the last couple of years. Her original argument was, "Hey, Finnick, I was thinking. You're hot. I'm hot. Let's do it." When I turned her down, she just laughed and patted my head, as if I had told her a mildly amusing joke. After that we became friends, sort of, although she still likes to hit on me every now and then. I think it's her way of keeping me on my toes, although she also may just get a kick out of seeing my reaction each time.

"We could do that," I say seductively, running my hand down her spine. Coral shivers and jumps away from me, laughing. "Or we could sit with our tributes and watch the Reaping re-runs."

"Spoil sport," Coral sighs, heading over to the couches where our tributes are sitting with Pompey. The high-speed train clatters along the tracks, and it occurs to me that I've been on it so many times that I no longer even notice that we're moving anymore.

Pompey turns on the television mounted high on the cabin wall, and we watch the Reapings. "Pay attention," I tell Jarvis, because although I'm pretty sure he's doomed, I haven't give up on him quite yet. "You can tell a lot about a person from the way they react at the Reaping."

Districts 1 and 2 are all Careers, of course. The boy from 2 looks particularly vicious. 5 has a sly-looking girl who has a calculating look as she climbs up onto the stage – Jarvis notices it too, and I advise him to watch out for her. There's a crippled boy from 10 who brings winces to all our faces – crippled kids don't last long, no matter how skilled they are. They just have a natural disadvantage that will inevitably slow them down.

District 11 produces a huge, dark-skinned boy named Thresh who looks like he could uproot a tree without too much effort. His fellow tribute, a tiny twelve-year old angel, reminds me of Natare when she was that age. "They should raise the age limit," I mutter. "That's not right."

Coral glances over at me. "No," she agrees, anger lacing her tone. "It isn't."

I bite back a sigh when the female tribute from District 12 is called. It's another twelve-year old, a sweet little girl with blonde curls and blue eyes. I hear Coral groan beside me, but just as I'm about to comment, something completely unexpected happens. On screen, the girl is just starting up the steps to the stage when another girl – an older one, with dark hair and panicked eyes – rushes forward screaming "Prim!" and pushes the little girl behind her.

"A volunteer?" Coral says, looking completely bewildered. I don't blame her. District 12 hasn't had a volunteer in decades.

"I volunteer!" the older girl shouts. "I volunteer as tribute!" The little girl starts shrieking and wraps her arms around the older one.

"Sisters?" I wonder aloud.

"That would explain it," Coral agrees.

"How lovely," Pompey says over my shoulder. "Looks like 12 will have a real fighter this year."

I exchange an exasperated look with Coral. We both know that a volunteer doesn't necessarily mean a "real fighter" – it could just as easily mean that the older girl would rather die herself than have her sister thrust into the horrors of the arena. I know this from personal experience – I would have given anything to go into the arena again in Annie's place, if only such a thing were possible.

Then something even more unexpected happens. The girl, Katniss Everdeen, takes the stage as 12's new female tribute, and her director calls for a round of applause. But instead of applauding, the entire crowd of District 12 stays absolutely silent. This isn't just respect for a girl trying to save her sister, this is something more. Rebellion? Not quite. But a statement against the Capitol? Definitely.

Haymitch suddenly staggers forward onscreen, reeling drunk as usual, and shouts, "Look at her! Look at this one! I like her! Lots of... spunk! More than you! More than you!" He points directly at the camera for this last bit.

Why hasn't Capitol cut this part out from the replay? They must just think it the drunken ramblings of a known alcoholic. As if to prove this point, Haymitch promptly teeters off the side of the stage and knocks himself out. And there's no doubt that he's drunk. But Haymitch is a smart guy. He wouldn't say anything so risky unless there was a purpose to it. I think back to our conversation – how the Hunger Games would be the perfect platform to light the spark of rebellion. Does he think that this girl – Katniss Everdeen – might be that spark we've been waiting for?

I examine her closely as she stands in the background, watching as the director calls out the male tribute – some large, stocky blonde kid. Katniss' face is completely impassive, as if she doesn't give a damn what's happening around her. When she notices the camera swinging her way, a sneer of distaste graces her lips. Fascinating. She definitely has spunk, as Haymitch said. I guess the real question now is, how much?

Our train pulls in to Capitol Central, and after herding our tributes up to the fourth floor of the Training Center and putting them to bed, Coral and I race for the twelfth floor. Haymitch's train won't roll in until tomorrow, which means that the twelfth floor will be empty – and, therefore, the perfect place for us to talk.

Plutarch Heavensbee strolls into the common room a moment after us, and I have to remind myself that he's one of us. It's hard to reconcile in my mind a Gamemaker with a leader of the rebellion. But I guess he must have his own grievances with the Capitol. "I thought you might be here," Heavensbee says, smiling at some private joke.

"Katniss Everdeen," Coral says.

Heavensbee nods.

"Should we be meeting like this?" I ask.

Heavensbee laughs. "This is only a small fraction of our little rebellion. Besides, Snow is rather occupied at the moment with the Games. I'm assuming you're here for the same reason I am?"

"We need a figurehead for the rebellion," I say. "Is she it?"

"We can't rush into anything," he says. "Katniss is spirited, and deliciously rebellious, but if she doesn't survive then she's useless to us."

I can't suppress my groan. "More waiting?"

Heavensbee nods. "Talk to Haymitch when he arrives tomorrow. He's the girl's mentor, he'll have better insight into her character. If she really is the one we've been waiting for, he'll know."

"And then what?" Coral presses. "We rig events so she comes out alive?"

Heavensbee sighs. "Not possible, unfortunately. I may be able to influence Seneca Crane a little, but he makes all the decisions. And no, Finnick, I don't think bribing him will work this time around." I shut my mouth, as I had just been about to suggest that exact thing. "Annie was harmless. Katniss isn't. If we alter events, Snow will be watching this time around, and we could be exposed. We can't risk it."

"So we just have to sit around and hope that she survives?" I snap. "Great plan."

"If she really is the one we need, then she'll find a way to win the Games," Heavensbee says shortly.

What can I do but nod and trust his judgment?

Next evening is the Opening Ceremonies. Around lunch, I leave Jarvis in the dubiously skilled hands of Germanicus, who has returned from his sabbatical and is more infuriating than ever. I get my usual message from Snow – today, it is Miss Olivia Janus waiting for me at the theatre. Pulling on a tux, I hurry downstairs, hop into the waiting car, and zoom off for an afternoon tryst.

When I return, the sun has begun to set, and the tributes should be preparing to roll out in their chariots. I take the elevator down to the bottom floor, emerge into the cavernous stable, and look around for the District 4 chariot. It's not exactly hard to spot – festooned with coral, the horses fitted with absurd fins on their backs so that they look like strange horse-shark hybrids.

I wander over to Jarvis, who has a huge hat covered in spiky spines stuck on his head. "Sea anemone?" I observe. "Could be worse, kid, trust me."

"I know," Jarvis says. He's so monotone that I have no idea whether he's secretly terrified, or honestly doesn't give a damn about his current situation.

"I'm going to sit in the mentor's booth to watch the parade," I tell him. "Later."

"Bye," he says.

I join Haymitch in the stands – Johanna isn't mentoring this year. It's too bad, because I bet she would have loved to be a part of this. "So?" I ask as I slide in beside him. Then I notice something. Haymitch's liquor bottle is gone. "Where's your booze?" I demand suspiciously.

"My darling tributes convinced me to stop drinking," Haymitch growls.

"I saw Katniss' Reaping," I say nonchalantly.

Haymitch smirks. "She's something else, Odair, trust me."

"That's what we're counting on."

He shoots me a confused look when I say "we", and then mouths, "Heavensbee?" I nod. Satisfied, Haymitch turns back to City Circle, where the chariots have started to roll out, and says, "12 has a new stylist this year. Name's Cinna. I think you'll like him."

We watch in silence as the chariots go past. Jarvis, bless his heart, just stands there in his ridiculous getup looking so bored that the audience's eyes drift right past him without stopping. If he doesn't die in these Games, we should hire him to assassinate Snow. He could just walk straight into Snow's mansion, and the guards would never notice him.

Then the District 12 chariot emerges from the Training Center, and my voice joins the rest of the crowd in a surprised gasp. Katniss and her tribute mate – I think his name is Peeta – are wearing black unitards. But the real surprise is their cloaks and head-dresses – both have somehow been lit on fire, without burning their wearers. They stand out head and shoulders above the rest of the tributes.

"Cinna, eh?" I mutter to Haymitch. "Don't tell me. He's one of us."

Haymitch laughs. "That obvious?"

Katniss and Peeta pass by, holding hands in an unprecedented show of togetherness. "What's with the buddy-buddy hand-holding?" I ask, not sure how linking this girl on fire with her boring-by-comparison tribute mate is going to help her win.

Haymitch gives a mysterious smile. "You'll see."