~Chapter Seven: Revelations ~
"No live organism can continue for long to exist sanely under conditions of absolute reality." ―Shirley Jackson, The Haunting of Hill House
...
Although I had sensed her simmering, even after Caspian and Finnick departed and it was just the three of us in the elevator, Johanna was kind enough to wait until we'd reached the District 7 floor to unleash the lecture.
"Are you kidding me? Have you lost your fucking mind!? Do you have a death wish!?" She was legitimately seething, dark eyes narrowed, voice raised, emphatically pointing a bony finger at me as she enunciated her words. She had gotten very close to me as she spoke, leaning down until our noses were less than a foot apart. I felt trickle of fear down my back in the face of Johanna's anger, knowing just how vicious and violent she could be. I had noticed Rudd sneak by out of the corner of my eye; I'd nearly forgotten he was there.
The full realization of what I'd said had caught up to me, intermingling with my frustration and exhaustion from the day's events—and the fear that never seemed to go away—leaving me feeling borderline unstable. Half of me wanted to yell, and the other half just wanted to cry.
"I don't…I didn't…" I began, not even sure what I was wanting to say, but she cut me off.
"Mentoring you is difficult enough as it is without you making yourself a target!" Her voice was even louder now, and I was sure half the floor could hear.
"But I-"
"It was bad enough that you couldn't at least pretend to be civil with that boy from 4, even after I asked you to," she continued, ignoring me,
"Well, that's-"
"And I know that 4 was being a total ass to you, but I figured you were smart enough to not fall for his obvious attempt to get under your skin,"
"It's just that-" I vainly tried to defend myself again, but still, Johanna ignored me as she continued,
"But then you have to go and insult the most dangerous tribute in these Games?"
"I just couldn't-"
"Couldn't what? Couldn't keep your temper in check for five fucking seconds? Couldn't keep your mouth shut? Because they insulted your pride? They called you weak? Who even cares if they think you're weak?Why do you care? The Careers overlooking you could help you stay alive longer, you brainless moron!"
By the time Johanna finished her tirade, her face was lightly flushed, strands of dark hair falling around it. The last couple of sentences had risen even more in volume until she was basically just yelling.
I snapped my mouth shut, then, because I knew she was right, at least in some aspects. I knew I shouldn't have let Caspian's jibes get under my skin and rile me up. I was exhausted, and stressed, and drained, and I felt like I had somewhat of an excuse for not being on my best behavior, just in general. But she was right, and despite my feelings, I should have risen above it, at least on this particular occasion. Standing up for myself and not appearing weak were still important, but they shouldn't have taken priority over avoiding Cato's wrath. I should have just tuned Caspian out entirely, or acted indifferent, to get him to stop pestering me for a reaction. Knowing she had a point drained the rest of the fight right out of me. I felt hollow, and I just stared up at her wordlessly.
"Johanna." The voice came from our left then, and I was finally able to take in our surroundings. We were in a short hallway that led from the elevator to the rest of the quarters. Blight was standing there, looking at the two of us with his brow furrowed. It was he who had spoken. Minodora stood on his right, looking absolutely scandalized.
"Why, you'll wake up half the floors with that racket!" She chastised. Johanna turned, and the look on her face made Minodora take a step back, affronted expression turning to nervousness.
"Well maybe if I didn't get the biggest idiot of a tribute to mentor, I wouldn't have to yell!" Johanna snapped, voice still louder than a normal speaking tone.
I stayed silent. I felt empty, drained, and any residual frustration was now directed at myself.
"We can discuss it more later. The Capitol program to recap the Parade and the new information about the Arena is starting soon, and we all still need to eat." Blight responded, eyeing me.
"Fine." Johanna turned to look at me, the anger still simmering in her expression. She spoke through her teeth. "Go get showered. Now. Make it quick. Then you will sit and eat, politely, without snarky comments, and then you will sit and watch the program and keep quiet." Her tone left no room for argument, and it was incredibly condescending, but I couldn't even bring myself to get upset about it. "And in the meantime, I will have to think of some possible way to try to keep you off of the Career hit list after that debacle. You just made my job a hell of a lot harder, and I hope you really think about that." She then whirled away and stomped off.
Blight turned away without another word and followed her, though Minodora hesitated in the hallway, as if she was unsure if she should say something to me. I waited a few seconds before following after Johanna. I tossed Minodora a somewhat hopeless shrug, as I could see the question evident in her expression. I didn't want to talk about it right now. The escort followed after me, directing me towards where my personal quarters would be. She also mentioned that we were "already late" for dinner, and that I'd need to come to the table immediately after my shower.
The entire District 7 floor was incredibly lush, well-furnished and massive, pretty much like the train we rode in on, but I scarcely glanced at anything as I made my way to my personal quarters. I didn't see Ben anywhere; I assumed he was showering or spending time in his own room before the Parade recap.
I shut the door tightly behind me, feeling like I just wanted to collapse. Right now, though, a shower was in order. I scarcely glanced around the massive, luxurious room before beginning to undress. I'd have time to examine everything later.
I scrambled with the accessory pieces for a frustratingly long time. It probably would have been faster if I had Minodora or a servant help, but I refused. With considerable effort, I strained to unclasp the top piece and extricated myself out of it unceremoniously. I shimmied out of the lower accessory, the pieces scraping at my skin in places, knowing I had probably chipped my nail polish with the effort. I jerked at the clasps and yanked at the fake branches until they slid off. I tugged at the crown that had been sitting in my hair, and fumbled to pull out the hair extensions and decorative leaves interwoven in the strands. I wouldn't be wearing it again, so I assumed it didn't really matter if I was aggressive with it. I was incredibly annoyed by the time I got everything besides the body paint off; now I had less time to shower.
This shower was even more complicated than the one on the train. There was a panel with dozens upon dozens of options to control every little detail about it. Right now, I only wanted the basics, though, so I just tinkered with it a bit until the water temperature was adequate. Then I cycled through a few different soaps until I found one that made the body paint come off with minimal scrubbing.
I knew I didn't have too long to just sit in here, but I let myself slide down until my back was against the shower wall, rear end situated on the warm tiles of the shower floor. I lowered my head, letting the water run through my hair, a couple of the leaf accessories that I'd missed running along the bottom of the shower. I grabbed a massaging sponge that I had programmed for the shower and rubbed idly at my skin to ensure the rest of the paint would come off, then used a different smaller one for my face. I could see the dark makeup and paint swirling in the water below me. It was like I was molting, becoming someone else.
The shell of the Parade costume had protected me for a while, but once the exhaustion hit, I had just been myself again. Myself, with my fat mouth and prideful streak.
Caspian had deserved my barbs. He hadn't been offended by them; that was what he was going for. But I shouldn't have risen to the bait, since that was what he wanted. Me staying cold and indifferent would have prevented all of this. But…I just wasn't the type of person who could pull off "cold and indifferent" very well. I wore my emotions on my face, and I didn't like to take insults just lying down. I'd always stood up for myself. I'd stood up for Rowan, too, when we were much younger and sometimes kids at school would make fun of him because of how quiet and standoffish he was.
Clearly, my principle of defending myself remained true even when I was terrified. Maybe the stress and exhaustion had something to do with that, but still. Tonight was not the night to stick to my remaining shreds of pride just because I had been insulted and demeaned. I didn't want to appear weak during the Games, but I had to pick my battles, and I couldn't be stupid about it. I hadn't just popped off to some jerk at school making a rude comment, or to the creepy guy I sometimes worked with at the papermill. No, I'd pissed off the biggest threat in the arena. Showing a fighting spirit was not the right call when it came to Cato. I needed him to ignore me, to forget me.
A tiny voice in the back of my head reminded me, though, that he had already seemed to absolutely despise me the first time we made eye contact. Ben too, though less so than me, despite Ben being more of a threat than I would be.
Maybe being off of Cato's radar was never an option.
I put my head in my hands, making a strangled noise of frustration as I tried to let the water wash away everything I was feeling, wishing I could just forget the events after the Parade.
…
As soon as I stepped out of the shower, my stomach growled.
I had eaten a small meal before getting into my costume, but that had been around one this afternoon. What was that, six hours ago? Seven? I wasn't even sure. It felt like a lifetime. The swirling nerves and adrenaline had distracted me during the preparations and the Parade. Afterwards, so much had been going on that eating dinner was the least of my concerns. But now, hunger had decided to join the exhaustion, making me even more miserable.
Like in the Remake Center, the bathroom here had a heater that almost instantly dried my body, and a fancy gadget that sent an electrical current to dry my hair. I decided to just leave it down, hoping I could hide from Johanna's wrath behind the dark curtains.
Leaving the bathroom, I actually paid more attention to my living quarters this time. They were large, far too large for one person. The main room had a giant window along one wall that had a view of the city, and a panel next to it that I decided to tinker with later. There was an attached closet that was pretty much the size of my bedroom back home. There was a panel in here, too, where I could customize what I wanted to wear. I decided on an outfit similar to what I'd worn on the train, this time selecting an interesting dark purple color.
There was also a screen in the room that legitimately had a food menu. I couldn't believe it, the thought of being able to just pick something at will—the screen said that whatever I ordered would take a minute or less to arrive. The sheer concept baffled me. I remembered that Minodora had said dinner was starting, though, so I decided to just eat there in order to avoid a lecture.
Although, being around Johanna right now was clearly not a good idea.
Unfortunately, almost all of the others—minus Autumn—were already seated at the table when I arrived, and the Avox servants had already served them the first course, and placed plates of large rolls in the middle of the table. Sometimes, it was hard not to stare at them. I'd never even heard of an Avox before Minodora told Ben not to talk to them on the train. She had said they "have no tongues and cannot speak" so we were not supposed to address them unless we were asking them to do something for us. It felt wrong, though. I wanted to ask Minodora how these people became that way, but I had thought better of it on the train, and I thought better of it now.
Johanna fixed me with the patented angry glare from the other end of the table as I slid in the empty seat next to Ben. He turned to give me a small smile, clearly having no idea what had transpired after he left.
I quietly thanked the Avox as a bowl of soup was placed in front of me. The others had already started eating. Minodora was chatting with Orea, as all four stylists had joined us for dinner, although I didn't see the prep teams around. Granted, I didn't think this table could fit that many people.
"Is Autumn okay?" I asked Ben quietly before I began to dig into my soup.
He nodded. "The Capitol doctor was already waiting when we got here. Blight was at the elevator, trying to come back down to see what was taking so long. She was still out of it at first, but the doctor was able to wake her up. He gave her some pills but then I was sent off to shower so I don't know what else he did to help her. I think she's sleeping in her room now."
"Good," was all I said in response, continuing to eat the soup. I really needed to learn to control the sympathy I felt for Autumn, but it was very difficult. I couldn't just ignore my empathetic responses like that, but I knew it would only make the Arena harder for me.
I was mostly quiet as the meal went on, though Johanna was not even slightly subtle about glaring daggers at me from time to time. I was pretty sure Ben noticed, because he tossed me a look of confusion. I followed her instructions though, and ate politely as the Avox brought out course after course, making sure all of our plates and glasses stayed full (Johanna had refused to let them give the three tributes anything besides water). There was a cheese and fruit platter again, and the main meal was some sort of giant roast with a heap of roasted potatoes and vegetables. There was no cheesecake for dessert, to my dismay, but it was some sort of reddish cake called "velvet cake" with a creamy, delicious frosting that was almost as good. We all ate fairly quickly, with nobody besides the stylists and Minodora really making conversation, since the Parade recap would be starting soon.
Fortunately, I wasn't really addressed directly much. Minodora and the stylists spent most of the time talking about the costumes and how well we had done at the Tribute Parade, and I forced myself to give a half-hearted smile and nod anytime they looked at or complimented me. In truth, I was glad they had thought I did well, but I just didn't have the energy to be as chipper about it as they were. Especially Minodora. She had actually given me one of the bright smiles usually reserved for Ben when she spoke about how I'd come across at the Parade. At least someone wasn't furious with me tonight.
Then dinner was over, and we were relocating to the living room to watch the recap of the Parade and opening ceremonies. The living room that I'd quickly brushed through earlier was massive; one entire wall was pure glass, looking out over the twinkling brilliance of the Capitol. There was a large, plush couch that wrapped around the room in a U-shape, big enough to sit at least half a dozen people or more. In front of the couch was a fancy-looking table where we could place our drinks. Matching armchairs were placed on either side of the couch. It was all situated around the massive screen we would be watching all future Capitol programs on. I saw a few additional plush seats located around the room, all placed strategically to have a good angle of the giant screen and account for the additional people staying on the floor this year. In fact, I recalled Minodora saying during dinner that the Training Center had "undergone quite a few renovations this year for the Quell" and that she "couldn't wait until we saw what had been done to the roof" and experienced the "wonders of the brand-new lounge downstairs."
I idly noticed the décor mostly consisted of dark, rich colors; the plush rug that covered a good portion of the living room was a comforting, forest green. I wondered if each floor had a color scheme suitable for its home district.
I sat down on the couch next to Ben, my body sinking into the lush seat. Minodora sat on my other side, and I was grateful it wasn't Johanna. Most of our group sat on the couch or the adjacent armchairs, although Blight placed himself directly behind the couch, insisting on standing.
Soon after, the Parade recap was starting.
Our stylists ooohed and aaahed as District 1 made their appearance, flashy and dazzling with the array of gemstones they wore. Eudora and Autumn's stylist began cooing over how handsome Lambent looked. Claudius and Caesar, of course, loved the look, and then the camera panned over the screaming and squealing Capitol people who were looking at Lambent and Chiffon as if they wanted to devour them for breakfast.
That was going to get annoying, and quickly.
The other pair from 1 were eye-catching, as well, in a getup of furs and finery-with swaths of skin strategically showing- that another district probably wouldn't have been able to play off nearly as well.
Then came the first group from District 2, the pair in silver armor, looking like battle-hardened warriors. Caesar commented that he liked the fresh spin on the armor costume for this year. I noticed that the girl with short, reddish hair remained stoic and cool throughout the Parade, much as she had during the Reaping. It was as if she thought she was just above it all. The crowd seemed to love her aloof demeanor, though.
Then came Cato and Tatiana, with their black and red armor. They looked every bit as brutal and deadly as everyone knew they were. Their demeanors were fierce, almost hungry, as if they were riding into battle that very moment. They clearly know exactly how to acknowledge and play to the crowd to get them even more riled up. Claudius and Caesar loved it, commenting extensively on how these two were favorites, remarking on their muscular builds and the way the crowd responded to them.
"Wow, I'd really hate to get on their bad side before the Arena even started," Johanna snapped sarcastically.
I stayed quiet for once, not taking the bait, and knowing she wasn't exactly wrong.
The pair from District 3 with the costumes that lit up actually made a pretty good splash with the crowd. Clearly Cinna had inspired other stylists to get creative. Then came District 4, and predictably the audience and commentators loved them as well. To my displeasure, Caspian got plenty of great comments—mostly because he wasn't wearing much of anything—as did his companion, Azure, with her beautiful sea green dress. Eudora said something complimentary, and I just barely managed to keep myself from scoffing out loud. Only my concern about Johanna smacking me upside the head kept me silent. I really could not stand that boy.
The next couple of districts were fairly understated and didn't get as much of a rise out of the crowd, though most of them at least looked decent. Then we were up.
The crowd's noise definitely swelled as Ben and I appeared, looking like alluring and mysterious creatures from the forest. They sounded like they loved us just as much as they'd loved District 4, a few groups before. Eudora squeaked with excitement, jabbering to Orea, who I was sure had a broad smirk on her face. The other two stylists were animated as well, though I idly wondered if they were secretly jealous that Rudd and Autumn didn't look nearly as good as we did.
I observed myself carefully, pretty pleased with how I'd managed to pull off the look Orea wanted. My small smile looked a bit secretive, and it widened as the crowd continued to cheer for us, some of them screaming our names. I watched myself blow a kiss, then toss a wink, causing fervent shrieks to erupt from groups of the audience. I actually came across flirty and engaging, helped by the shimmering body paint and intricacies of the costume. Many of the Capitol citizens were blatantly ogling both of us, but especially Ben.
The crowd's response got even more feverish when Ben held the flower out to me, looking charming and gallant. The smile I gave him in response looked completely genuine, and I watched myself take the flower, thank him, and turn back to wave at the crowd with renewed vigor. Caesar and Claudius commented on how the crowd absolutely loved the "romantic" display, and they were right. They were just eating it up.
Ben nudged me. "Admit that was genius," he said a bit smugly.
I felt the corners of my mouth lift. "Consider it admitted," I responded quietly.
The rest of the recap was definitely more subdued—Orea made a disparaging comment about the flaming belts from District 10—until Rory's chariot. I once again observed the District 12 pair enrapture the Capitol's attention. Cinna's handiwork was on full display– the smoke was like a living thing as it surrounded the two tributes, dark tendrils grasping around them, and it was impossible to tear my eyes away. Their black costumes, reminiscent of a coal miner's outfit but redesigned to look like armor, seemed even darker and devoid of color in the recap. The makeup was immaculate, harsh, and imposing. He had managed to make both of them look dangerous despite their size and age. I wasn't sure that Rory had quite the ferocity or fire in his eyes that the Girl on Fire had last year, but with Cinna's help he looked like a real contender, and the display was too fascinating not to watch. Most importantly, it was memorable.
Then that part was over, and the camera cut to Caesar and Claudius as they made a few more comments about their favorites. The Careers were discussed, of course, and then Cinna was praised for 12's incredible costumes in back-to-back years. After that, though, I was pleased to hear that Ben and I were mentioned again. Caesar specifically commended the "magical" body paint and the "inventiveness" of the look in comparison to previous years. I knew Orea must have been puffed up with pride, especially since it was her first year designing for the Games. I wondered if more stylists would try her technique, using body paint instead of fabric, in future Games.
Then I realized I didn't want to think ahead to future Games. Because I may not even be alive then. The thought sobered me up immediately.
Caesar turned to the camera, then, and promised to discuss more "interesting tidbits about some of the tributes" later after the next part of the program, where the Arena would be discussed in greater detail.
I thought this might be a feature unique to this year's Quell. I had obviously tried to tune out a lot of Caesar's and Claudius' ramblings in previous years before I was Reaped, but I didn't remember ever learning a lot about the Arena before the tributes were thrown into it. The Gamemakers always wanted to keep it a secret. Usually, the announcers spent a lot of time theorizing based upon past Games, but it seemed like they had some concrete information this year.
The announcers took a short break, then, promising to return in just a few short minutes to discuss the information about the Arena. Then the camera panned to an interview with some ridiculous looking orange-haired man—who was unknown to me, but who must have been very influential and famous—to discuss some of the fashion statements made tonight during the Tribute Parade.
It seemed like nobody really wanted to pay attention to this interview, and Ben spoke up.
"Tomorrow's just a day of training, right? No special events or anything for the Quell?"
"As far as we know," Johanna responded. "Blight and I will discuss strategy with all of you at breakfast tomorrow. We're still working on how we want each of you to handle training, and what we want you to focus on." Her voice hardened. "Especially since some of you are more difficult than others."
I scowled mutinously, but again remained quiet. Half of my frustration was directed at myself, anyway.
Ben raised his eyebrows at me.
"I'll tell you later," I muttered, not wanting to talk about it right now. Honestly, I didn't really want to talk to him about it at all. Not only because it was embarrassing, but because at the end of the day he was still another tribute in the Arena. I knew Ben and I had some sort of district camaraderie and he truly seemed like a decent—maybe even a good—person. He wouldn't go out of his way to hurt me or come after me in the Arena, and I was more at ease around him than anyone else. But unfortunately, I could never trust him entirely. That was the nature of these despicable Games.
He was less of a threat to me personally compared to the rest of the tributes, but eventually we would be pitted against each other in some way, shape, or form. I only hoped I wasn't ever forced into the decision of killing him or surviving. I couldn't stomach the thought.
Fortunately, Ben accepted that answer and turned to speak with Eudora, who was addressing him about something.
I didn't speak anymore, fixing my eyes on the screen but not really watching the interview with the orange-haired man until it wrapped up.
Then the camera was on Caesar again, and he was sitting in front of a live Capitol audience with a guest that actually interested me—Plutarch Heavensbee, the new Head Gamemaker this year. I recognized his face, but I hadn't really recalled his name until I saw it flashing across the television screen. He was on the plump side, but rather normal-looking for someone who lived in the Capitol. He had light, almost white-blond hair combed to one side, and very calculating eyes. I was sure he was carefully plotting how he wanted each of us to die in the Arena. His dark suit was clearly incredibly expensive, but rather understated. I supposed he wanted to look sleek and professional, as opposed to making a fashion statement.
"So, Mr. Heavensbee," Caesar began.
"Please, Plutarch is fine." The man's voice was almost friendly, but his expression was unreadable.
Caesar grinned broadly. "Very well, Plutarch. Let me start by saying that it is just an absolute pleasure having you with us this year as the new Head Gamemaker."
Plutarch smiled and dipped his head, though it didn't reach his eyes. I idly wondered what had happened to Seneca Crane. I doubt Snow had been pleased with last year's outcome, with two District 12 Victors. He was probably scrubbing toilets somewhere, at best.
"Now, we're all very excited that you're willing to tell us a few things about the Arena before the Games start." Caesar chuckled. "Why, it is absolutely unprecedented! Isn't it exciting folks?" He turned to the crowd, that bright smile still plastered against his tanned face, and there was a resounding cheer of agreement.
"And I'm sure the tributes this year are just at the edge of their seats, too!"
Another laugh from the crowd. Plutarch inclined his head, the smile still not quite reaching his eyes.
Caesar turned back to Plutarch then, leaning forward, a conspiratorial tone entering his voice. "So. Tell us. What can we expect this year?"
Plutarch sat up in his chair slightly. "Well, being a Quell, we knew we had to make an exceptionally unique Arena this year. On top of that, it is the Third Quarter Quell, and as you all know, those who created the Games also created three special rules for these Games to match." His smile became something more akin to a smirk (of course, by now we all well knew what the three twists of these Games were). Plutarch continued, "we decided to keep with the theme they established: the third Quell, three special Quell rules, and this year…three Arenas."
Caesar's expression became shocked, and he turned to smile widely at the crowd again, who had erupted into loud, excited cheers.
A deathly silence had settled over most of us (well, the Tributes and mentors) in the room. My gaze was riveted on the screen. Three Arenas? What the hell did that mean?
"Well, I must say-I would never have expected something so exciting!" Caesar responded.
Plutarch inclined his head again. "In recognition of this unusual change, we thought it fair to give a general overview of how it will work…although of course, we will not be giving specific details."
"Oh, of course!" Caesar responded, grin still wide. "Why, I'm sure the audience will agree with me that the surprises are half the fun!"
The audience cheered in approval, while my face settled into a scowl again. Each of those surprises usually ended up with a tribute dead.
"So, what more can you tell us?" Caesar continued, leaning back towards Plutarch.
"Well, this year, instead of only having one large Arena, we have three slightly smaller ones. Each Arena is separate from the others, and Tributes will not be able to travel between them on their own. Instead, they will travel between the Arenas once a certain stage of the Games is reached."
I was frozen again, staring at the screen, feeling something heavy settle in my chest. My brain was racing, trying to comprehend the news.
"The tributes will all start in the first Arena. When half of the tributes remain, hovercrafts will immediately retrieve them, and take the surviving tributes to the second Arena. When half the tributes remain again, the hovercrafts will take the survivors to the third—and final—Arena." The smirk widened. "Each Arena is very distinct and will provide unique challenges for the tributes. I am sure the people of the Capitol will enjoy seeing what we have in store for these exciting Games."
Caesar was like a flower stretching towards sunlight as he drank in every one of Plutarch's words eagerly, a look of rapture (whether sincere or not) on his face. When Plutarch stopped speaking, the audience absolutely went wild again.
I felt stunned. It was exactly the type of twisted thing the Gamemakers would dream up. Surviving through half the games, only to be picked up and whisked away to an entirely different Arena, and then it happening yet again…it was horrifying. I had no doubt that each Arena would require significant adjustment from any strategies that worked in the previous one. I could just see the Gamemakers changing up the climate, geography, plant and animal life, and who knows what else between each Arena. Even though Plutarch had said each was somewhat smaller than a normal Arena, it would still feel like three separate Hunger Games.
Another horrifying thought occurred to me then. Would there be a bloodbath at the beginning of each? Surely not, I thought. If they truly wanted the Capitol viewers to enjoy each of the three Arenas, we couldn't be killed off too fast. I was especially worried about what types of nightmares the Gamemakers had dreamt up for the final Arena. I was willing to bet that each one would get worse.
I dimly realized that Johanna had released a stream of vitriol and swearing under her breath. I could sense Ben's tension next to me. The stylists and Minodora were chatting to each other, but they seemed muted, as if they sensed the negative energy in the room and didn't want to set any of us off.
The interview wasn't over, though. Caesar had made a few more comments to the crowd, riling them up even further, but they were finally subsiding again. After a moment, he turned back to Plutarch.
"This is incredible, just incredible. We've never seen anything like it! Now of course, I don't want to come across as a greedy man," He gave a hearty chuckle, "but I just have to make sure: is there anything else the Gamemakers are willing to share with us about these Arenas? I'm sure the people watching home are just going wild over all of this!"
Plutarch sat back against his chair, his face looking almost contented. I felt a rush of hatred that nearly matched my dislike for Snow. The Hunger Games were already despicable, but this…this seemed like even worse psychological torture than was normally present.
"The Games are meant to be challenging, especially for a Quell, so there will only be a short respite between each Arena. At the beginning of the second and third Arenas, the survivors will be taken to an underground facility for exactly four hours before being sent back in. During this time, there will be medical treatment available, but it will be as minimal as possible-Capitol personnel will onlytreat as necessary to ensure that each tribute can walk and move, and is not facing any life-threatening condition upon entering the next Arena. Superficial and minor wounds will not be treated. Injuries are a natural part of the Games."
Of course, I thought. They didn't want to actually allow any of us to fully recover between each Arena, since it was all part of the same Hunger Games. But at the same time, they were really pushing the "three separate Arenas" concept – they wanted the audience to get their fill of this Quell's entertainment. It wouldn't be as thrilling for the Capitol if tributes were tossed into a new Arena, only to collapse a few minutes later from wounds that had been inflicted in the previous one. They wanted each Arena to provide enough excitement to justify having three of them.
The Gamemakers had really outdone themselves. I felt a surge of dread, horror, and despair as I realized this had all gotten even worse that I could imagine. I closed my eyes, trying to drone out the remainder of the interview, which was basically just Caesar complimenting the Gamemakers a dozen different ways with the crowd screaming behind him.
Shortly thereafter, that part of the program ended and the camera cut away to another useless interview with some other brightly-colored fool from the Capitol.
Johanna lunged forward, pressing a button that muted the giant television screen. The room was absolutely silent, then. Even the Capitol citizens in the room, who had gasped at Plutarch's reveals on television, knew better than to say anything right now. Minodora was watching Johanna warily.
She stood up, practically pacing back and forth in some of the empty space between the large couch and window. Her back was rigid, and I could see the frustration edged on her face. She hadn't been a mentor very long, only a few years, but neither she nor the other mentors had ever seen anything like this. Glancing over my shoulder I saw that Blight looked just as displeased by the Arena-related information.
"So." Johanna said after a tense moment of all of us staring at her, coming to an abrupt stop. "The new Head Gamemaker is obviously more of a sicko than that sniveling Seneca Crane was. Great. But there isn't shit we can do about it now. We just have to try to deal with it."
"Seems like we'll have to expect all types of environments now," Ben said then, echoing my thoughts from earlier.
"Yes. He said each Arena would be distinct. Of course, they'll try to make it as hard on you as physically possible." She then called the Gamemakers a very offensive word that called their virility in question and caused Minodora to make an affronted sound in protest. Johanna ignored her.
Blight spoke, then. As usual, his tone was much more level than Johanna's. "Survival skills will be especially important this year. We don't even know if each Arena will have a cornucopia."
I wondered if the Careers realized this, too, or if their arrogance meant they just assumed they'd get the Sponsors for whatever they needed. From what I remembered, Careers had always put far more emphasis on weapons training, and some of them didn't have particularly great skills when it came to foraging, starting a fire, or snaring food.
Maybe after last year's Games that had changed, though. The Girl on Fire had outsmarted all of them and destroyed their supplies, I remembered, leaving them bereft of the cornucopia resources. They'd no doubt learned from that.
"Let's assume there won't be a cornucopia in each area, or assume that if there is, the Careers will monopolize it." Johanna responded, starting to pace again as she thought out loud. "Of course, there's another wrench thrown in with the pairings, since we don't know how that will turn out."
I finally spoke up. "They still haven't said anything about how our partners will be chosen?"
Without looking at me, Johanna shook her head.
"I heard a rumor today that there will be more details revealed after the training scores are announced," Minodora said then, sitting up straighter and sounding a bit prim. She was no doubt excited to know something we didn't.
"Well let's hope they don't have any more lovely surprises for us between now and then," Johanna bit back, annoyance emanating from her.
I was ready for bed. I felt nearly lifeless, overwhelmed by the hopelessness of the situation before me. I wasn't sure how much more I could take. I'd cried myself to sleep last night and had no intentions of doing that again after I promised myself not to, but at this point I would welcome sleep. The nightmares couldn't be much worse than this reality.
I felt myself sink into my own dark thoughts for a moment, not even bothering to follow the conversation anymore, until Minodora rudely dragged me out of them.
"Oh, do turn the sound back on – they're talking about the tributes again!" She chirped excitedly.
Johanna was none-too-pleased, but apparently agreed that whatever the commentators were saying was worth hearing, so she unmuted the television again. I remembered Johanna saying earlier that they had been digging through our lives, looking for legitimately anything interesting to gossip about. I figured I was probably safe. Unless they wanted to talk about my mother, that is; though I assumed I wasn't the only tribute who had lost a parent. It could be used as a sob story, but a lot of us probably had sob stories. It was the life of someone in an outer district.
They were already talking about Chiffon. Apparently, her aunt was a previous Victor of the Games. They took the time to show the Victor, blonde and beautiful, before beginning to compare the two. Talk about a legacy to live up to, I thought. They even ran a clip from the previous Victor's games, displaying a couple of her kills. It was hard to stomach.
They briefly touched on a couple other District 1 tributes, namely Lambent, though none of the tidbits really stood out to me until they started talking about District 2-more particularly, Cato.
I sat up slightly as his picture appeared on screen, his cold eyes haughty, replacing Caesar's smiling countenance.
Caesar was speaking excitedly. "To those in the audience who are especially perceptive and have an excellent memory of past Games, Mr. Hadley is not the first member of his family to volunteer for the Games. In fact, his oldest sister, a Ms. Cyra Hadley, was a volunteer for the 68th Hunger Games!"
As Caesar spoke, another picture was pulled up on the screen. Cato's sister. Cyra. She had the same blonde hair, high cheekbones, and haughty expression. Although her eyes were green instead of blue, there were enough similar features between them that, when viewing the pictures side by side, there was no doubt they were related.
Caesar continued, "Sadly, Ms. Hadley was not the Victor. In fact, some of you may remember—it was quite a heart-stopping moment, a tragic moment, when she perished during the games. She was certainly a favorite, and many people were surprised by the turn of events that led to her passing." Caesar was back on screen, now, looking uncharacteristically serious. I didn't buy it for a second. "I hope some of you have tissues on hand, because the next few minutes might be difficult to watch. For those of you who need a refresher, we have it right here. A recap of Cyra Hadley's very last moments in the 68th Hunger Games!"
My first thought was that this was horribly cruel—no doubt Cato was watching, and he'd be suffering through his sister's last moments again. I was sure every eye would be on him on his District floor, seeing how he reacted.
An instant later I realized that I was actually trying to emphasize with a monster, and that I was assuming that he and his sister had a similar relationship to Rowan and me. In truth, who knew what things were like in District 2? For tributes who spent their lives training for the Games (technically illegally, but the Capitol turned a blind eye, of course), who knew if they were even close with their family at all. No, it was pointless to try to have some sort of sympathy for that horrible boy.
And then, a dark part of my brain had the thought that Cato could have seen this clip a million times before. If his sister died during the games, knowing District 2's reputation, I wouldn't be surprised if whoever trained him had forced him to watch it, to learn from her mistakes. Especially when he was volunteering just a few years after her. It seemed like something they'd do; though, of course, I was just speculating.
Cyra was up on the screen then. She was carrying a sword, blood smeared across her forehead. She was running next to a boy I assumed was her district partner, judging by the matching colors of their uniforms, which hadn't really changed during most of the recent Games I could remember.
I didn't recognize her or this clip, though. I would have only been 11 (well, nearly 12) for that Reaping, and I had probably tried to watch as little as possible. It was hard to remember all of the deaths over the years when they blended together so much. I couldn't even remember what the District 7 tributes had looked like that year.
The two tributes from 2 were chasing someone, I realized, though the camera didn't pan out to show who. They were hot on the trail, panting, clearly close behind their target. Something must have happened, though, because the video flashed forward to where the district partners were splitting up to hunt down their prey. My first guess was that they had been chasing multiple tributes, and the recap was deliberately not showing this to keep this as short as possible, or perhaps for some sort of dramatic effect. I felt a distant sense of foreboding.
Then the clip fast-forwarded to where Cyra was standing in shallow water sometime later, poking around a particularly thick clump of weeds next to a large cluster of boulders as if she knew there was something to find there.
Then it fast-forwarded almost immediately again to where the blonde had found a small crevasse near a wide and rushing river, strategically positioned between a couple of rocks. She was making her way into a cave partially hidden by tall reeds, sword out in front of her. It was then, with the close-up angle of the camera, that I could see Cyra looked half-rabid. Her expression was unsettling; I wondered what had happened to her before this scene to create that look on her face. There was some sort of odd glint in her eyes, and the blood smeared across her skin made her look even more savage. I also noticed the thick bandage wrapped around one arm.
Shortly thereafter, Cyra had made her way past the narrow, winding entrance and was in the main part of the cave, which was surprisingly large for how small the entrance was, with several alcoves and bends in odd places. She was slowly walking towards the cornered tribute hiding within, around a slight cave bend and back against the wall. The light filtering into the cave, along with whatever fancy technology the Capitol had in their cameras, were plenty for us (unwilling) viewers to be able to see the scene clearly. The other tribute was small and bedraggled, but it only took me a second of looking at the chocolate-brown uniform and her pale face before I recognized her.
It was the female District 7 tribute from that year. I didn't remember her name—it had been several years since then and I hadn't known her before when she was Reaped.
She had stood up and pressed her back against the cave wall as she noted Cyra's approach. Like me she was small and slender, with long dark hair, though the similarities ended there. She looked bruised and battered, half starved. Her hair was matted, face streaked with dirt.
I still didn't remember this altercation at all; it was a while ago and I had been so young, or maybe I had completely missed this part of the Games.
Cyra stopped, slowly holding her sword out, just a short distance away from the District 7 girl. With a quick lunge, she'd be within lethal striking distance.
Recognition had crossed the District 7 girl's face, followed by an odd expression I couldn't quite place, which was then quickly replaced by obvious fear of her upcoming death.
"Any last words, 7?" Cyra asked sardonically. Her voice sounded hoarse, scraping against her throat.
The girl from 7 swallowed heavily. I expected her to beg for her life, and in a way, I was right…but her next words caught me off guard.
"Cyra…please don't," she said softly, eyes wide.
I was completely perplexed by the girl's use of Cyra's first name. It was almost as if they knew each other on a personal level, but that would make no sense. Cyra was a Career and likely wouldn't have associated with someone from an outer district. The girl from 7 was probably just trying to throw her off her game.
An angry look crossed Cyra's face, then. She raised her sword slightly. "Don't. Don't do that. Don't pretend like you know me," she bit back.
"But I do," The District 7 girl responded vehemently, plaintively. "I know that somewhere deep down you don't want to do this."
"You're wrong," Cyra snapped back. I could see the other girl was getting under her skin. I was still taken aback at the familiarity with which 7 addressed her.
"You know I'm not. You know you don't want to kill me. Please, Cyra, you don't have to do this," The girl from 7 was pleading now.
"Shut up!" Cyra snapped back, taking a step closer. Her eyes were flashing, wild.
"I'm not wrong! You don't have to kill me, we can work together, we can-"
"I said SHUT UP!" Cyra yelled, and this time I actually heard underlying emotion tearing at her voice. The sword trembled slightly.
Was it possible these two had known each other on some level, or even been temporary allies at some point? My mind just couldn't believe it. But Cyra was clearly hesitant to just leap forward and end the girl from 7. And Careers normally did not hesitate.
The two girls stood, staring at each other, District 7 with wide and wary eyes and District 2 with a series of emotions flickering rapidly across her face. Again, I was struck by the unsettling way Cyra's eyes glinted, as if she were half-driven mad already, an odd maniacal look reflected in them. I then wondered how far in the Games this was. I'd thought that the District 7 tributes made it pretty far one year when I was pretty young; was it this year? I couldn't remember.
Clearly, though, by now Cyra had been through something that left her mind in a place that wasn't entirely intact.
Of course, that was assuming she hadn't been half-insane before entering the Games.
"Get on your knees," Cyra snapped then. "I'll make it as quick as possible."
This small mercy further convinced me that the two girls knew each other on some level. Maybe they had run into each other before or after the tribute events, or spent some time around each other during the training days, or interacted previously in the Arena. I had no idea; it didn't make sense to me. Careers rarely allied with non-Careers, and even then, it was usually only if they could provide something of great use, some unique skill or attribute. This recap hadn't shown previous moments of the Games, though, so it was impossible to know for sure.
Maybe the Capitol didn't want us to know.
"But-" The other tribute was saying.
"On your knees, or I'll gut you right here and you'll bleed out slowly!"
"Cyra, don't-"
"NOW!" Cyra snapped, voice rising to a yell again.
The girl from 7's eyes flicked about the cave nervously, as if she was seeking some sort of help, before settling back on Cyra, who gestured with her sword for 7 to kneel.
The District 7 girl slid to her knees, then, slowly. I noticed, for the first time, the bandage wrapped around what looked like a deep cut on her leg. I expected her to cry, or start begging for mercy again, or to do something to prolong her own life.
But instead, she just took a deep breath, looking up at the District 2 girl. Although there was still some fear in her expression, her eyes were steady as she gazed at Cyra evenly.
"Do I still get last words?" the girl from 7 asked.
Cyra took a final step forward. The sword was just inches away from 7's face.
"Make them quick," she responded flatly.
The girl from 7 nodded. She still looked into Cyra's eyes steadily.
"If you win this…when you think back on this later…don't have any guilt or regrets. Just know that I forgive you, Cyra. For what you're about to do."
Cyra's gaze had become completely incredulous, then, as she stared at the kneeling girl. Slowly, she pulled the sword back into a position where she would be able to strike at the girl quickly. I assumed she planned to decapitate her. The corded muscles in Cyra's arms suggested she'd be able to do it.
But then, right when Cyra got the sword into position, she stopped for a second. Her eyes flickered in that same disconcerting way I had first noticed as she entered the cave, an unnerving gleam in them. Her expression twisted, lips flattering into a thin line. Her hand tightened around the sword's handle, but once more, the weapon trembled slightly in her grasp.
And Cyra hesitated.
Again.
Another second passed, then another, with Cyra unmoving, sword poised to decapitate the District 7 girl.
Then, all at once, several things happened.
The camera panned to a newcomer on the scene – the boy from 7 who, unbeknownst to the audience watching (and Cyra), was slowly, cautiously, walking into the cave undetected. He had clearly been moving incredibly slowly so that Cyra wouldn't hear him, his initial entrance disguised by the noise of the river outside. There was an axe clutched in his hand.
My brain made several connections then: he had clearly heard Cyra's yelling from outside of the cave. The girl from 7 must have seen him creeping through the narrow, winding cave entrance, or perhaps even seen his outline against the sunlight trickling into the cave.
I remembered her eyes flicking around the cave nervously, and I'd thought she was looking for help, but she'd clearly been noticing the boy from 7. Everything after that had been stalling for time so the boy could get past the winding crevasse entrance and into the main cave area without being seen. So that he could get to a position where he could throw the axe without obstruction. The two girls were decently far back from the entrance, and around the bend enough that his shadow wasn't clearly painted on the cave wall.
I dimly remembered thinking the District 2 pair was chasing a pair of tributes, that the Capitol hadn't shown. This must have been the other tribute they were chasing…and the Capitol hadn't wanted to spoil the surprise. I wondered if the District 7 tributes had planned this out, planned to deliberately split up the tributes from 2 and lead one to this cave, or if the boy from 7 had just been smart enough to realize his counterpart would go there when they got split up.
We, the viewers, had been kept in the dark until this very moment as well, for maximum dramatic effect.
I realized all of this in just a couple of seconds – and then the inevitable happened as the District 7 boy approached.
Moving quickly, the boy stepped forward, pulling his arm back and then hurling the axe as hard as he could at Cyra's back. It was a risk—if she had realized he was there and dodged it, it could've flown straight into the girl from 7.
But she hadn't known he was there.
I could tell Cyra was well-trained, and had better reaction time than almost anyone else would. The minute sound of the 7 boy's small grunt of effort and the quiet whoosh of air as the axe hurtled towards her clearly triggered her survival instinct and she spun around faster than I thought possible.
But not fast enough. She had tried to bring the sword up to block the axe, but there was just no way to get it into position in the split second of time before it reached its target.
The axe sank deep into her chest. It was slightly to the right of her heart, but undoubtedly fatal.
Cyra dropped the sword with a clang, one hand instinctively coming up to grab at the axe half-heartedly as if she wanted to pull it out, but her fingers quickly slipped off of it. Her eyes were wide, shocked; the hint of madness was now gone from them. She looked incredulous, as if refusing to believe 7 had gotten the drop on her. Blood was already visible through her thin shirt.
Slowly, she sank to her knees, hands falling limp at her sides.
The girl from 7 had scrambled up and come to stand beside her district mate. Both of them stood there, side by side, as they watched the last several seconds of Cyra's life slip away.
Cato's sister's eyes were half-glassy as they flickered up to rest on the girl from 7, one last time. Pain was etched on the blonde's face, and she still looked almost disbelieving. She tried to speak, but only a gurgling noise emerged from her lips.
"You shouldn't have hesitated, Cyra," the girl from 7 said then. Her voice and eyes were icy cold, not a hint of sadness or remorse on her face.
Without another word, the tributes from 7 turned and left the cave as Cyra's body toppled over, lifeless, and the cannon went off.
…
So that's why he hates me-us-so much. Was my recurring thought for the duration of the rest of the program. It wasn't fair, of course. That had been an entirely different tribute from my district, and clearly Cato was projecting her sins onto me. But that had to be what it was. A small, dark-haired girl from District 7 had outsmarted his Career sister, caused her to show hesitation to kill during the Hunger Games, directly resulting in her death, and then coldly taunted her as she died.
If Cyra hadn't hesitated there, if she'd just killed the girl from 7 right when she cornered her in the cave…well, who knew what would've happened. She certainly wouldn't have died there. I was even more sure now that Cato had been shown this footage over, and over, and over while he was training for the Games. Forced to watch his sister die over and over again so that whoever in 2 was responsible for selecting the volunteers could be sure he wouldn't make the same mistake. That he wouldn't hesitate to kill if given the chance, ever. I was sure that Cato had built up a healthy amount of resentment during this process, and I was an easy target for it.
The similarity in stature and hair color between me and the other District 7 tribute likely didn't help (despite the fact that plenty of girls in District 7 had dark hair and weren't overly well-fed). Again, it wasn't at all fair for him to project it onto me, or anyone in particular. That had been seven years ago. And besides, the boy from 7 had been the one to actually complete the job. Cato probably hated Ben too, by extension.
But Cato had clearly been young when that happened, and had inevitably been conditioned by watching his sister fail over and over…and it was the girl from 7 that had made his sister fail. The girl from 7 that had made Cyra show weakness and a lack of resolve in front of the entire nation. A Career, reluctant to kill someone from an outer district.
I assumed it was humiliating for his family, based on the limited information I knew about District 2 and how they approached the Games. They were all about honor, brutality, and efficiency. His sister had none of those things anymore when she died.
So, while he already planned on killing everyone to achieve victory, he had extra motivation to kill the tributes from District 7. To prove he was better than his sister. The look Cato had given me earlier confirmed it. It all made sense now, why it seemed like he hated me in particular.
This night legitimately couldn't get any worse. I was convinced the odds could not possibly be stacked more against me. Cato had probably already resolved to kill me during the Games if possible, as some sort of vengeance or just to prove he wouldn't make the same errors his sister did, and then I had mouthed off to him.
I was doomed.
I was pretty sure Ben had made the connection, too, and I could basically sense Johanna simmering across the room, but she kept stonily silent as the announcers moved on after briefly discussing how Cato would be "especially motivated" to win this year in order to "avenge his sister and bring honor back to his family name." It was all very dramatic.
I felt sick, and drained.
I tried to focus as the commentators continued talking about other tributes, but it was difficult. My brain kept going back to Cato's sister's borderline deranged look, the way the girl from 7 had cleverly bought time, the cold and remorseless expression on her face after Cyra died. She had used whatever familiarity was between them, knowing it would cause Cyra to hesitate, and she clearly hadn't felt an ounce of guilt over it. It was intelligent, and had saved her life, but I couldn't help but feel ill. If it were me, surely I would have felt a tiny bit of guilt after that?
Then again, maybe not. The Games changed everyone. And Cyra had been a Career tribute, choosing to be there.
I forced myself to push it out of my head, honing in on Caesar and Claudius again. I had legitimately expected them to talk about the Careers and maybe one or two other tributes before wrapping it all up. However, to my surprise, as the program continued, they actually spoke about quite a few of the rest of us.
I didn't understand why at first, but then I decided that with forty-eight tributes, a lot of us were in danger of flying completely under the radar and being forgotten by the Capitol. Especially those with less memorable costumes. Clearly, whoever was calling the shots wanted to give the Capitol more people to root for, perhaps even create some underdogs or surprising Capitol favorites outside of the Careers (and Rory Hawthorne).
So, they talked about plenty of sob stories, with the occasional (supposedly) happy tidbit thrown in. It wasn't hard to find depressing backstories this year, with so many older tributes being Reaped. Other tributes got talked about just because they were attractive, or had better odds than the rest of us.
They only talked about most tributes for less than thirty seconds, but at least half of the tributes got some sort of mention.
So, given how deep they were diving into the Tributes, I wasn't overly surprised when Ben and I popped up on screen midway through. They replayed the scene of him giving me the flower, my genuine smile up at him.
"Well Caesar, look at that gesture," Claudius was saying, an annoying simpering quality to his voice.
"What a gallant young gentleman! I'm sure many of you in the Capitol would love to be on the receiving end of that flower." He gave the camera a knowing wink.
I rolled my eyes, but I realized why they brought it up. They usually liked to give the most attractive (along with the most vicious) tributes special attention, to really help drive interest and sponsorship in the games. It also helped balance out the sob stories. The men and women of the Capitol were probably swooning over Ben's gesture during the Parade. Caesar and Claudius had made a point to talk about the physically appealing tributes from 1 and 4, as well, but they didn't have this "adorable" little video clip to go along with it.
Ben was smirking widely and he glanced down at me, but I pointedly ignored him.
Because now, it was my turn. I already knew that—seeing as how they had mentioned the sob stories of various others—they would probably bring up mine.
And bring it up they did. Caesar had a sad expression in his eyes, the same one he had projected for the other tributes who had lost family members, and I wanted to wipe it off of his face. "Like some of the other tributes here, Ms. Ainsley lost a parent—her mother—at a young age. We learned that it was a very rare illness, difficult to treat. Very tragic." His expression shifted slightly into one probably meant to be encouragement. "However, I'm sure Ms. Ainsley will use this as extra motivation to return home to her beloved brother and father."
It was essentially the same spiel they'd given for several others. It was an old wound, but I still felt something twist deep within me at the mention of my mother. She wouldn't have wanted to be brought up for the Capitol's amusement. It was disgusting. And mentioning Rowan and my father only made it worse, resulting in a new wave of homesickness threatening to engulf me.
I just wanted to go to bed.
However, they weren't done talking about me.
I was surprised by Caesar's next words. "But, here's another tidbit about Ms. Ainsley, very exciting actually– her birthday is two days from today! She'll be nineteen years old. Isn't that charming, Claudius?"
"Perhaps that flower was an early birthday gift, eh Caesar?"
"No doubt, no doubt! And how wonderful to be able to spend your birthday in such a beautiful place like the Capitol!"
I had stiffened, staring at the screen. I had almost managed to forget the cruel irony that on Reaping Day, I had been just three days away from turning nineteen. Technically I would still have been eligible to be one of the last two tributes called with the Quell rules, but I was well aware my odds would have been much better if I were nineteen.
Ben looked stricken, and a couple of the stylists—along with Minodora—had gasped and were chattering excitedly.
I sighed with mild annoyance, too tired now to get truly angry. It was just a birthday. I was sure other tributes in the past had birthdays occur during the Games. It was only remotely interesting here because it was occurring while I was in the Capitol, and it was the birthday that would normally mark one as no longer eligible for Reaping. I was sure the coincidence was highly amusing to the people in charge.
But, of course, people in the Capitol would take any excuse to spend money and eat lavishly.
"Oh, but I had no idea!" Minodora nearly shrieked. "This calls for a celebration! You have your strict schedule, of course, but you will have a birthday cake, I will make sure of it!" She looked down at me, then, all-too-excited, a knowing look appearing in her eyes. "I remember Benjamin here mentioning you enjoy cheesecake? We shall have to get some!"
The annoyance abruptly vanished, and I just felt drained once more. Minodora was just so blissfully unaware of how horrid it was for me that my nineteenth birthday was a couple of days after Reaping Day. And at the same time, in her same ignorance, she was actually trying to do something nice for me, in her own way. From her own little isolated bubble, she was trying to help, even though it was completely tone-deaf. I was too tired to really feel anything about it either way, though.
I nodded emptily at her, aware she was waiting for a response.
Not noticing (or not caring about) my lackluster response, she clapped excitedly and began chatting with Eudora about my birthday cake.
There was nothing else remarkable about the remainder of the program really, it was just plenty of other sob stories like before; at least, nothing stood out until they spoke about Rory Hawthorne. Then, of course, it was all about his connection to Katniss, and how his handsome brother Gale had been briefly very popular with the Capitol during the interviews last year.
Then it was over, and Johanna turned the television off. She was silent for a moment, Minodora and the stylists' voices the only noises in the room. I felt rather than saw Ben sink further back into the couch cushions next to me. He had to be nearly as tired as I was. Especially after the sheer enormity of the events today. Just this morning, I'd woken up on the train. It felt like a lifetime ago.
Even Johanna seemed totally exhausted, now. She could barely muster up a half-scowl in my direction.
"There's a lot we'll have to go over. Especially with you, Twiggy," she said, shooting me a look as she said that last part. "But for now: go to bed. You all look like shit."
I didn't even bother to argue. I didn't toss anyone else another glance. I stood up, and quietly made my way towards my own quarters.
Just before I got there, though, I heard Ben call after me softly down the hall. I turned to face him.
Concern was etched in his brow. I both hated it and appreciated it.
"You okay?" He asked softly. I assumed he was asking about the whole "Cato's sister" revelation, or perhaps he felt bad about the cruel coincidence of my birthday, or my personal tragedy put on display, among dozens of others. Or maybe he was remembering the death glare I'd gotten from the boy from 2 after the parade. He didn't even know the half of it.
I shrugged. "Not really," I said, my voice sounding wooden and empty. No point in lying. But it wasn't like I wanted to talk about it, either. Not right now. Maybe not even later.
"Goodnight, Ben."
The last thing I saw was his worried expression, before I stepped back into my personal quarters and shut the door tightly.
…
A/N: Might feel like a bit of a filler, but there was so much new info in this chapter that I wanted it to stand alone! Also, thank you for the additional follow/favorites/review! I hope you enjoy the twists in this chapter. I'm trying to make it unique, and I know it's a bit more complicated than the standard games, but...if the Gamemakers can pull off a clock-themed Arena with 12 sections, I figured three separate smaller Arenas wasn't too drastic.
I know plenty of other fanfictions have followed the idea of Cato having Victors in his family, and the story "Soldier On" is an example of a story that did a great job with Cato's backstory and connecting it to the main character. But I wanted to take mine in a bit of a different direction, with his family member being in the Games, but not winning. The next two chapters are written, just need editing. Prepare for training, and some more interactions with your favorite Careers ;)