The day after the Caesar Flickerman Interview
Peeta
"Just give me the damn script and I'll fix whatever I have to!" I finally lost my temper after 20 minutes of rewrites and corrections. I was in a part of 13's control room that had been converted into a studio of sorts, for the express purpose of filming propos. People were all around, working and getting things ready. I hardly noticed them. All I was focused on was getting this segment filmed so that we could help Katniss.
"Peeta, we need to make sure it's perfect. This will be your first appearance since your escape. And your introduction as a leader for the rebel cause. It's important we make sure it comes across correctly, especially since the Capitol seems bent on defaming you and Katniss as liars." Someone says, one of the people from 13 who've been working on the script without any success since even before Katniss's interview. It's a woman with short hair, cut in a manly style.
"I know exactly what to say to diffuse those ridiculous accusations. So like I said, give me a rough outline and I'll fix it. Every minute you waste is another minute Katniss is in their hands! Another minute she's being hurt and tortured!" I say as I crush the small plastic cup of water in my hand, breaking it into pieces and spilling the remaining water all over the floor.
"Boy, calm down," Haymitch warns. And I throw the cup forcefully into the nearby trash can in aggravation.
"I'm still not talking to you!" I say in a clearly resentful manner and Haymitch's grey eyes narrow before he shakes his head at me. I turn away from him.
"Who has the script? And a pen, I just need the script and pen." I say after a tense minute, in a more subdued tone, but just barely. And someone hands me a copy of the script.
I work as quickly as I can, and when I finish making the corrections I tap my foot anxiously as they look it over, knowing it's fine, and they're just going to approve it anyway. It takes a whole 5 minutes, but finally they give the ok. I allow them to touch up the makeup under my eyes (I haven't really slept since they took me off the pills and sedatives). I look in the mirror and feel almost disgusted with myself at seeing the familiar image that greets me.
And I'm that person I know so well, and also hate secretly so much. The charming, easy going victor. I don't know why I hate him so much, the man I see reflected back at me. He looks a lot like me, but then again he doesn't. My scars are covered up underneath the sleeves of a fitted uniform that shows off the muscles in his arms and chest. The makeup covers my tired and washed out face, and makes him look healthier, also trimmed and styled my hair and even applied a clear coat of lip balm to my chapped lips. And I look like I did when Katniss and I took our Capitol portraits earlier this year, during Deen's victory tour. Glossy, smooth, and attractive.
I hate it. I'm here getting made up, and she's….she's enduring god knows what….
But that doesn't stop them from unbuttoning the top button of my uniform. Apparently even though we're supposed to be working towards a revolution, sex appeal is still one of the priorites. I barely held back a very Katniss-like eye roll when they finished my prep, stepped back and admired their work.
The director is a woman named Cressida, and she's not really so bad as Capital directors go. She's detail oriented and does what needs to be done without pushing my performance. She is surprisingly normal looking, with only half of her hair shaved, and lots of green clinging vine tattoos trailing down behind her ear and neck and shoulders. Her assistant director Massala, and her camera-men, Castor and Pollux, are all pretty professional. But the two stylists they brought with them make my old preps look geniuses. It took them an entire hour to find the right concealer for my skin tone, even though I told them numerous times which one was the right one. They had turned up their noses at me, even when I explained that as a painter I was very good at matching colors.
In the end it didn't matter. Then they turn the camera on and I turn it all on again. I say my lines, over and over. Tell everyone who I am, even though everyone knows who I am. Talk about the way we planned to escape, and the reasons behind it, the real reasons. That Snow had ordered Katniss and I to get engaged, move up the wedding, and even the part about him ordering us to start trying to have children. That part had to be very carefully worded, to maintain respect for Katniss and me, while also putting the blame squarely on the shoulders of the Capitol. Then I end by telling them about how Katniss put her life in danger trying to get help, I tell them about how she traded her freedom for Deen. I tell them that now she's in the Capitol's custody, but that she could be carrying my child (everyone insisted we put this in the script). And I ask them to ask themselves what kinds of lives they're living. What choices are being taken away from them. I ask them to consider what kind of life they really want, what kinds of freedoms they are missing. And I end it by telling Katniss I love her, wherever she is. And that I'm not giving up on her. I ask her to hold on for me.
They say cut, and I hobble down from my interview chair. Someone hands me my crutches. I walk away from the lights and the chatter and try to find a secluded corner to just catch my breath in. The entire morning had been a stressful, aggravating experience and when they called a break for lunch I was so grateful to leave I didn't even wash the gunk off my face, just went straight to the dinning hall. Before I got there Haymitch intercepted me. I tried to walk past him, but since my leg's fucked up I didn't exactly have the maneuverability I needed.
"Lunch can wait, boy. Beetee's been working on something to help you with your leg. They've got a prototype ready now. Come on," He says as he blocks my way.
I stare up at him with undisguised annoyance, but he knows I really can't afford to turn down any help with my leg right now. So with a gesture of my hand, I indicate for him to lead the way.
We go down a couple of levels, past their huge hydroponics bay where they grow their food, and reach a large laboratory and engineering room.
There is a familiar looking man in his 50s, with thick framed glasses and wearing the traditional district 13 grey colored jumpsuit standing up from his workstation to greet us.
I recognize him from our time in the Capitol. He was usually quiet and soft spoken at the opening and closing ceremonies for the Games. I see his partner and fellow mentor Wiress tucked into a chair, almost like a cat, while she holds a long piece of metal in her lap and uses tiny tweezer-like tools to poke and prod at the wires underneath.
"Peeta, long time no see." Beetee says with a tight lipped smile, a little awkward as always when trying to make social pleasantries. In fact the only time he wasn't awkward was when he was talking about technology or engineering. He extends his hand out and I give it a good natured shake.
"It's been a few months," I reply, trying not to appear too anxious to get the prototype he's made for me and get back to lunch. I like Beetee, and Wiress. They're alright as far as fellow mentors go, and Katniss always got along with them whenever we were in the Capitol. At dinners and functions she'd make a beeline to sit with them. Mostly because they weren't intrusive, rowdy, or overly flirtatious with either of us. Beetee usually made some jokes no one understood about electricity or engineering, and Wiress said a few soft sentences that Beetee usually had to finish for her. Katniss was content to let them chat all night, only nodding or putting in a word here and there to show she was still present.
"Peeta?" Wiress says glancing up at me. And for the first time in over a week I smile genuinely. It's brief, and it hurts, but seeing the reassured look on Wiress's face makes me not regret it.
Wiress is a lot like Annie Cresta, the girl who lost her mind after winning the 70th Hunger Games. They're both soft spoken, shy, a little unstable at times when you try to talk to them. But Wiress is a good person, underneath her fragility. And even though we'd only been mentors for a few years, I had always believed that Katniss and I considered the District 3 mentors as friends of a sort.
Wiress gets up and gently rests the thing she's working on down on a workbench, and then she's taking slow tentative steps towards me. When she reaches me, she extends her arm around me and gently pats me on the back, I don't know what happens to me.
I just lost it a little. My throat gets tight and my one good knee starts to buckle under the weight, the enormous pressure I've been under all morning, all day, every moment since Katniss has been gone.
"Steady there," Beetee says kindly, and grabs a chair so I can sink into.
"You should sit…." Wiress trails off as she peers into my worried face.
"Down. She's right. That leg must be really bothering you Peeta. Here, sit down." Beetee says as he helps me sit. I know they're both just too polite to say what everybody knows. That I'm barely holding it together without Katniss.
Haymitch, who had been hovering by the door, waves a quick goodbye and says he'll go down to the mess hall to tell them to hold my plate.
"Peeta, we can help you with your…" Wiress trails off again, but her eyes remain on my face as she tries to convey something, sympathy? Or solidarity perhaps? It's a kind look, filled with gentle assurance and I nod my thanks to her even before Beetee can finish her sentence for her.
"Leg. Peeta, we've worked up a temporary prototype to get you around feasibly well while we finish the work on your new permanent prothethis. I've studied the design of the original one, and found there are a number of improvements that can be made. Let me show you the schematics, while Wriess helps you attach your new prototype. I think you'll be very pleased…"
…..
I spent about an hour with Beetee and Wiress in the lab. They show me their designs and even though I am nowhere near as good with science, or math as they are, I can in their computer built sketches that the new leg looks infinitely more maneuverable than my old one. The temporary prothlestic is almost as good as my old one anyway, and they had rigged it up in just a couple of days. I showered them with my effusive thanks and they brushed it off saying they were just happy to be able to help.
And as I left, I thought about how Katniss would have felt seeing them again. I thought about how she had known almost instinctively how genuinely good they were. I wondered about her and the other victors. Chaff and Seeder she got along with fairly well, as well as Mags. But she hardly knew anything about Valve, the male victor from District 6. Everyone who knew him called him Val, and his fellow mentor Cyl, which was short for Cylinder. They were both from the district in charge of transportation, and thus had aptly been named after engine parts. They were usually high out of their minds on morphling. But the few times I had spoken with them, they had discussed colors and painting with me. Cyl was actually here in '13, undergoing rehab in a separate facility somewhere. Then there was Finnick Odair and Joanna Mason. Two people Katniss definitely hadn't gotten along with during our two years as mentors.
Finnick had come on to Katniss when we first met, not that she had noticed at all. And when he had noticed her obliviousness to him, or anything sexual or suggestive, he had made it his mission to try and embarrass her and I at practically every turn. Joanna, who was one of his closest friends among the victors, had joined in the game, and had even stripped naked in an elevator in order to try and make Katniss freak out. I had tried explaining this to Katniss, that they were just teasing her, but she had gotten insanely pissed off and hadn't talked to me for days.
If those were her only options for emotional support…
I had to get her out, as soon as possible.
The thought drove me, as I walked back to the mess hall, my steps much more even, and faster with the new prosthetic Wiress and Beetee had made for me. It felt infinitely better than hobbling around on crutches.
I found Haymitch, sitting at a table with Cecelia Tailor the victor from district 8 and Annie Cresta, the girl who reminded me of a younger version of Wiress.
I reintroduced myself to Annie, in case she had forgotten me, but she blinked up at me in recognition and muttered a small, "Hello, Peeta." before putting her head back down and resumed counting her peas and arranging them into rows. Cecelia nodded to me, and Haymitch asked how the new leg was working out.
I managed to grunt a reply of, "Better." and then he passed me my food tray.
The food here in 13 was spectacularly horrible, and bland. But it mattered to me only distantly. I didn't need good food to save Katniss. I just needed enough fuel to survive until we could go and rescue her. Cecelia asked about the filming of the propo, and I filled her in. Then she said she was considering filming her own story, what happened to her when she became a victor, to help drum up sympathy for the rebels, and anger towards the Capitol.
"He used my three children against me. Same as he wanted to do with you two." She tells me quietly as she eats her soggy turnips. My eyes look up and find hers, and she reaches across the table and squeezes my hand quickly, before looking away. I blink slowly, and stare down at my plate, seeming to have lost my appetite.
What kind of monsters could do these kinds of things to other human beings? The idea, the very thought….But then again, it was almost a natural extension of the Hunger Games. Every year they took 24 children from their families, as a show of strength, as a warning to remain obedient. Why not use their own Victor's children as collateral to keep them under control?
And suddenly it made more sense than ever how Katniss had responded after we had gotten publicly engaged. The picture was becoming undeniably clear that this form of oppression was...intolerable. But then again, so was full scale war. The ideologies of both the Capitol and the Rebels had been spinning in my head for days. Both opposing views clashing and crashing against each other in an over familiar way that threatened to derail my more pressing concerns.
Namely finding out where Katniss was being held, and how to rescue her.
And as if I conjured her out of my imagination, out of desperation, the monitors that were stationed around the dining hall flickered to life. The words Mandatory Viewing appeared again. And then there she was.
Dressed in a gauzy loose fitting grey dress, with long billowing sleeves and closed toe grey heels. Her hair was down, in a soft shiny, sleek style. She looked like a rich merchant class girl from District 12. Except her hair was dark instead of light. And her eyes were grey.
Except right now they weren't grey. They were overblown and shadowy looking again. I jumped out of my chair to get to the nearest screen. I ignored the protests from the other people near me and planted myself in front of her image.
There was the missing piece of me that I was trying so desperately hard to find and get back.
"Here we are again with Katniss Everdeen, formerly favored daughter of District 12 and winner of the 74th Hunger Games. Katniss I hear that today you've agreed to sing for us at the end of the interview. Is that true?" Caesar asks.
"Yes, it is Caesar. It's a part of the agreement that the Capitol has generously afforded me when I signed my confession." She says, barely able to choke the insincere words out. I wince at her obviousness. She is really not good at this.
"Ah, yes, so you've finally come clean about your traitorous activities." Caesar jumps right and capitalizes on her confession.
"I see no reason to try and hide them anymore. Cat's out of the bag now, as they say." She says in an unaffected tone.
"Oh, well, yes, of course. Well since you're in such an honest mood, how about we continue with some questions that we've been getting from our friends here in the Capitol and all around Panem hmm?" Caesar prompts and she shrugs.
"Sure." She replies.
"Alright, terrific! So to start, everyone is just dying to know more about your cousin, I mean your friend, Gale. Oh, look, we even have a picture. What a rugged, handsome looking young man. Was it his looks that caught your attention?" Caesar asks point blank. I cringe inside. What a horrible question to ask someone. Especially someone like Katniss.
"What?" She exclaims, clearly thrown off.
"Well, women across the country agree that Peeta is definitely a darling. And he certainly grew into himself over the last few years. Do we have those pictures? Yes, yes wonderful! You can see here the difference between Peeta at 16 and at 18. He's taller, broader in the shoulders and chest. He gets more muscular. Must have been all that wrestling training with your fellow victor Deen Sparrow! But when you compare them side by side, it's clear to see who is the more classic example of masculine beauty. Tall, dark and handsome as they say! I mean, 6'2, those fierce grey eyes? We had a lot of women messaging us saying they didn't blame you!" Caesar picks about the physical discrepancies between us in a way I've done in my weakest moments. It's...unbearable. But I make myself watch. This isn't about me, or even Gale, it's about her. And I can't stop looking at her, can't stop wishing for all of this to pass for her sake.
"It had nothing whatsoever to do with the way either of them….looked. It was just, I had known Gale for 4 years before I went to the Games. We were best friends. And Peeta and I fought together and saved each other's lives." She finally says, and her face is stern, her mouth set. And I believe her, to an extent. But only to the point of what she's consciously aware of. Katniss...has so much under the surface. I don't think she's even ever admitted it to herself that Gale's and I's looks may have played a factor in her confusion.
"Yes, but you said you had feelings for Gale Hawthorne." Caesar presses, trying to get her to back on track.
"It was a very confusing time in my life. And there was a lot more going on, much more important things than...boys." She answers, annoyed again. As if its the most obvious thing in the world, that she was far too busy to deal with either of our offered hearts during this time period. It would be admirable, completely respectable if I hadn't been one of the people left hung out to dry. Still, it was in the past.
"Are you telling me that you didn't resume, or if I'm to believe what you're saying, didn't start a relationship with this rugged looking coal miner when you got back from your Games? After telling Peeta that you didn't love him?" Caesar asks the question like he's dumbfounded, and can't believe what she's telling him.
"What? I….no. I didn't start a relationship with either of them. Gale and I remained friends. We always have been. Peeta and I eventually became friends too, once we stopped blaming each other for what happened during the Games. What does any of this matter anyway? Why don't you all hurry up and execute me, which by the way what's taking so long with that?" She says, clearly uncomfortable. And it hurts in a very sharp and specific way when she says she'd rather get on with her execution than discuss her feelings about Gale and I. It's so Katniss, and so completely nuts.
"All in good time Katniss, all in good time. But see we can't let you go until we have the truth. You promised you would speak the truth in these interviews. But you have been lying again." Caesar interjects with a mischievous look in his eye. I shake my head, knowing that whatever is coming next will not be good.
"No. I haven't." She says in her defence. And she sounds confident, sincere.
"Roll the footage please!" Caesar orders, and her eyes widen before they cut from her image.
The screen switches to an outdoor scene, one of a large overgrown field of grass. I recognize it as the Meadow, the place Katniss used to slip under the fence to go hunt when she still lived in the Seam. The field isn't empty. The angle is a downward facing one, and the clip is a little unsteady, as if the camera is being carried on a drone. Katniss and Gale are in the field, walking back from the woods, on one of their hunts obviously, judging by the bag of game she's carrying. She looks younger, 16 if I had to guess, fresh right off our Games. And he looks younger too, probably 18 or around that time.
They slip into the meadow, walking along probably silently, the both of them have such quiet treads. But the video has no audio. She turns back to him, starts talking. I can't make out what she's saying since there's no sound, but it doesn't seem to be all that important. She's gesturing with her hands in the way she does when she's impatiently speaking about trivial matters. But he's staring at her, like she's everything he wants. His chest is heaving, as if he's gathering his courage. And she doesn't notice at all. She's looking the other way. Suddenly he reaches out, quickly, with both of his hands, and cups her face. He kisses her. You can tell she's startled. You can tell...it's the first time they've kissed. She curls her hands into fists, against his chest, not holding on, but not pushing him away. But then she leans into him, just a bit towards the end. I can see it, the moment her lips return pressure on his.
And then it's over, and he pulls away. He says something to her, something quick, and then he's gone. Just walks over to the fence, slips under and out of view. She stays there, frozen for quite a while, like she's in shock. It hollows out a part of me, watching this, even though it happened more than 2 years ago. I had known about this kiss. She had told Haymitch and I about it on our victory tour, when she informed us that President Snow came and visited her home and instructed her and I to make our love story more believable. He had threatened Gale's life over this kiss. And I had thought, foolishly, that since they had only kissed once, it was somehow less of an interruption of their relationship, all the acting she and I had to do during our tour. It was more like putting a damper on a budding romance, than homewrecking.
But looking at her face, the confusion there, the distress, well it filled in a few pieces that I would rather have stayed missing.
My eyes searched the room, and I found what I was looking for. Gale, sitting with his youngest brother and the rest of his family, a few tables away. He's looking at the screen blankly. His face is absolutely expressionless. I turn away. Then the interview cuts back to Katniss and Caesar. She looks pale again, and a little startled.
"You were saying?" Caesar says and well, it's lucky he's hundreds of miles away from me right now.
She stares at Caesar hollowly. Her expression is a mirror of what I feel inside. Dread, and anger, and humiliation, betrayal, and so much more. She shakes her head, swallows past a lump in her throat.
"That wasn't a regular occurrence." Is her only answer. Because really what can she say? And if I'm honest with myself the way they're picking apart our past, so indelicately, it's more than a little painful. Dredging up all this crap, what's the point of it?
"Was it just a little slip up? Oh, well, everybody makes mistakes now and again. Am I right folks? And how many of us can say we wouldn't have been the least bit tempted? Can we get his picture up on the screen again? Oh, look at that!" Caesar says jovially, like all of this is great fun. Teenage melodrama that's fit for mass consumption. She's being downgraded to a fickle, silly school girl who couldn't decide who she wanted to take to the Harvest festival. Not a powerful victor who broke the Games, managed to fool the country and the Capitol, fake her own death, and get a dozen of her family and friends to safety.
Gale's face is back on the screen. It's a close up of him, looking rugged and handsome as ever.
Katniss sinks into her chair, defeated looking, and honestly close to tears. There's cheers and whistles being added to the audio track coming from the tv. But the mess hall where we are is deadly quiet. I hear the loud scrape of a chair, here in the mess hall, and I look back to find Gale, who of course, is getting up from his seat. There's fury in his eyes. The same kind of bottomless anger I saw when they had him pinned on the floor of the hospital lobby. His face is flushed from his brow to his neck. But he walks ramrod straight out of the room, not looking back.
"Shit." Haymitch grumbles under his breath. "This is getting complicated." He adds as he takes a few angry bites of his food.
I look back up at the screen, searching her face and her eyes. They are showing Gale's and I's pictures side by side, and asking Capitol citizens to engage in a new voting system. Caesar is explaining how it's similar to the way they can place bets on tributes during the Hunger Games. Only this time they'll be voting on Gale and I. On which one of us Katniss should have remained faithful too.
It churns my stomach into tighter and larger knots. And suddenly I see the whole of Haymitch's implications when he said this was getting complicated. They aren't just trying to discredit Katniss and I as people, paint us as dishonest, or rebellious. They are trying to villainize her, and paint me as weak and naive. Neither of which make for good leadership qualities. Neither of which lends credibility to us as faces for the rebellion.
All of the footage we shot this morning will have to be trashed. We'll have to come up with something completely different. Caesar is finishing giving the information for the voting system. Then he tells Katniss that he thinks they've answered enough questions for today. He asks her if she's ready to sing. She nods mutely. She gets up and the camera pans as she walks over to a small area set aside with a single standing microphone.
Caesar asks her if she's going to sing the same song they heard the other night.
She pauses, almost as if she's going to nod, but then she shakes her head at the last minute. And before anyone can ask another question, she just opens up and starts singing.
Shadows are fallin' and I'm runnin' out of breath
Keep me in your heart for a while
If I leave you it doesn't mean I love you any less
Keep me in your heart for a while
When you get up in the mornin' and you see that crazy sun
Keep me in your heart for a while
There's a train leavin' nightly called "When All is Said and Done"
Keep me in your heart for a while
Keep me in your heart for a while
Keep me in your heart for a while
Sometimes when you're doin' simple things around the house
Maybe you'll think of me and smile
You know I'm tied to you like the buttons on your blouse
Keep me in your heart for a while
Hold me in your thoughts
Take me to your dreams
Touch me as I fall into view
When the winter comes
Keep the fires lit
And I will be right next to you
Engine driver's headed north up to Pleasant Stream
Keep me in your heart for a while
These wheels keep turnin' but they're runnin' out of steam
Keep me in your heart for a while
Keep me in your heart for a while
Keep me in your heart for a while
Keep me in your heart for a while
(Listening Track: Keep me in Your Heart for a While-The Wailin' Jennys)
She sings the whole song almost without musical accompaniment. Obviously, going off script. The music kicks in, sometime towards the end, and even then only faintly. But she hadn't even needed it. It was an old song, one of the older ones I'd ever heard in our District. But she makes the notes soar and ring and dive and hum. I've never heard a song sung this beautifully, or this well. I've never heard anything like this.
I'm five years old again, watching the little girl climb up on a stool in a red dress to sing the Valley song.
But this time it's not the beautiful voice of a child. It's the rich and wondrous tones of a woman's voice that captures me. She's singing loud, louder than she had in my bathroom, louder than that night in the cave when she sang for Deen. She's confident and her voice is pure and fresh like morning dew on the high notes, and deep and caressingly full on the low notes. And I can feel everyone, absolutely everyone holding their breath in amazement as she sings.
Gone is the hopeless prisoner. Gone is the humiliated petite girl who looked ready to bolt. In her place stands a force to be reckoned with. A wild thing of beauty. The only thing she was missing was her bow. That was the only way she could have possibly looked fiercer.
The girl on fire, my girl on fire. And she is burning across every screen in the country right now, and Pamen is burning right along with her.
Sometime during the beautiful song, her eyes take on this quality. It's dark and dreamy, like she's half awake. But there's a fire there, a burning restlessness that suggests she really is fighting this. That she's struggling to break free. You can feel it in the way her voice lifts. You can see it in the tilt of her stubborn chin. And I think that if Snow thought he could cow her into submission so easily, he would be very disappointed to learn he was wrong. A chill runs through me at the thought. But I can't find myself regretting her song, her words. I can't find myself wishing for her to submit them, and lose herself entirely.
Because she is so much more than just a piece in their Games.
And I know all of Panem can feel it. I feel it with every fiber of my being. And when she finishes her song there is silence, for a whole minute. And Caesar doesn't laugh, or clap. He smiles tightly, and thanks her for her song. She sways a little on her feet, as she steps away from the microphone. But then there's a guard there to take her arm, and they're leading her away. And I want...I want so badly to reach in and grab her, or to transport myself to that place and be with her. I wish I could take her place, or if not that, then at least I could be there with her, alongside her, to help her through the horrors. But the screen stays stubbornly solid beneath my hands. And my body remains un-transmutable.
Then Caesar promises that she'll be back tomorrow, and reminds viewers to tune in later tonight to catch the next Trial. And then the screen fades to black. There is an eruption of voices all at once. People are talking, people are debating.
But the one common thread is Katniss. I look over at Haymitch, and we both smile at the same exact moment.
He had said we needed to make her indispensable to the rebellion.
Well, it looked like even from hundreds of miles away, our teamwork had been in complete sync.
Coin couldn't fail to see the effect Katniss had. No one could deny that now.
So we were one step closer. Even if it was just a small one.