Endure Chapter 11: A Formal Affair, a hunger games fanfic

~Chapter Eleven: A Formal Affair~

"There are much more important qualities to have than a docile disposition." ―C.J. Redwine, Defiance

...

That night, despite the relative peace I'd felt as I'd gone to bed, I was again plagued by more nightmares revolving around my own death. I woke up twice, jolting up in bed, heart pounding and sweat beading on my brow, before realizing I was still in the Training Center. Unfortunately, I knew the real nightmares were still to come.

So, I wasn't particularly well-rested when Minodora rapped on my door impatiently very early the next morning. She was excitedly shrieking something about the "big gala" this evening and how much work we needed to do today in order to prepare, so I unwillingly dragged myself out of bed and into the shower.

If I would've realized the hell that awaited me all morning and afternoon, I would've been even more reluctant to leave the confines of my quarters.

The gala didn't start until six-thirty this evening, and we'd be sent to the stylists a couple of hours beforehand. It would take less time to get us ready for the gala than the Parade, but they still needed to be able to work their magic. Minodora was very concerned about time, hence why she'd woken us up at a basically ungodly hour.

Because apparently, before all of that, I was required to participate in all-important lessons with our escort and mentors about how to present myself at social events.

The gala was special and unique to this year. There would be plenty of influential people from the Capitol there—politicians, businessmen and women, various types of music or television celebrities, high-level fashion designers, and just generally anyone with a lot of power. So, of course, there was the chance we'd have to interact with Sponsors, particularly some very wealthy ones. But the event itself wasn't specifically tailored for us to meet Sponsors; that was the purpose of the Sponsor "meet and greet" style luncheon in a few days.

No, this gala was meant to celebrate the Gamemakers, and all of the hard work they had put in for the Quarter Quell. All of them would be at the gala, including Plutarch. We might even have to mingle with some of them. In a way, it was a slap in the face that we had to attend. We were pigs lining up for the slaughter, and they were expecting us to get friendly with our butchers beforehand.

But we had to put fake smiles on. We had to suck it up and pretend. Not only because there would still be potential Sponsors there, but because pissing off the Gamemakers could be an especially painful death sentence in the Arena.

Because there were four of us, the mentors and Minodora had to divide the work of preparing us so we'd avoid public humiliation. Apparently, Minodora was teaching us all about etiquette, posture, and generally how to behave with proper manners and poise at fancy Capitol events. With her, it was all about looking good, and meeting Capitol standards.

The mentors would go over more substantive information, like the type of things we should talk about if approached by Sponsors or Gamemakers, the personality that we'd need to project today and tomorrow. They would really help us nail down the approach we'd take with the general public, to make us as likable and memorable as possible.

Autumn and I would be sent off with Minodora first, while Ben and Rudd went with Johanna and Blight. Then we'd swap until it was time to go get ready for the gala. Tomorrow, before the interview, we'd have additional shorter sessions with each of them to further our instruction.

After breakfast, Minodora chirped instructions like a frilly, baby-blue colored bird as she gestured for Autumn and I to follow her into a separate room across the floor from where I usually stayed. Once in there, two Avoxes silently began bringing in some long gowns and painful-looking shoes. Minodora explained we wouldn't actually be wearing these to anything—instead, they were meant to teach us how to walk in a long gown and shoes with high heels. I may have had naturally good balance and be quick on my feet, but the heels looked like a death trap.

A couple minutes later—with Minodora's assistance—I was dressed, and scowling. She had ushered us back out of the room and to one of the not-carpeted hallways on the District 7 floor, so that it would be easier for us to practice in the heels. I had tottered awkwardly out of the room and down the hall.

Why would anyone willingly wear these? How did Minodora do this all of the time? I was very short naturally, so one would think I'd like having the additional height added, but these just felt insecure and wobbly.

"Now, walk down this hallway. Remember what I told you about balancing, and placing your feet." Minodora then did just that, demonstrating the technique for us. She made it look easy.

I looked down at my feet, where my dress was billowing. It kept wanting to catch on or under one of my shoes, threatening to trip me up. Annoyed, I grabbed the fabric in my hand and yanked it up and out of the way, before trying to take a step, but an indignant noise from Minodora made me freeze in place.

"Don't you dare! Do not pull your dress up above your ankles! It is not proper!"

I stared at her incredulously. Seriously? These people sent me out in underwear and body paint, then complained about seeing a tiny bit of leg?

"Pretty sure I was showing more than my ankles at the Parade," I grumbled back.

Minodora looked stern. "These are formal events. You will be expected to behave as such. They are not about showmanship and flashy costumes."

She took this so incredibly seriously, part of me almost wanted to laugh. But I didn't.

"Now, go," the escort demanded, pointing imperiously. Autumn stood behind me; she kept having to grab the wall for support.

Annoyed, I began to awkwardly shuffle down the hall, trying to step the way Minodora told me too, but just a few steps in my dress caught and I almost tripped and fell.

The woman sharply pointed out what I'd done wrong, and told me to go again.

I sighed. This was going to be a very long day.

…

After about an hour, I had managed to walk the length of the hallway and back to Minodora's satisfaction. I'd lost count of the number of attempts it had taken to get it down consistently. My natural lightness on my feet and quick adjustment to shifts in balance no doubt helped—Autumn still had not quite mastered it comfortably by the time Minodora said we had to move on—but my feet were still sore from being in these shoes. I could only hope the next shoes I wore would be more comfortable.

We only had about a ten-minute respite before we picked right back up, Minodora assuring us that we still had a lot to cover before we rejoined Blight and Johanna. I felt myself harboring a tiny bit of resentment for Ben and Rudd; they wouldn't have to wear these damn heels.

Next up was apparently an equally-important lesson in sitting properly, maintaining good posture and poise, and body language. We had to come across as polite, interested, and happy to be there at all times (for both the gala and interview).

By Minodora's standards, I was seemingly awful at most of these things. I was treated to constant critiques with nearly every new thing she taught that I tried to replicate.

"Oh, for goodness' sake, Juniper. Stop crossing your arms in front of your chest."

"Sit up straighter. You slouch too much."

"Maintain eye contact. Don't scowl at me."

"Stop yanking at your dress like that! If you have to adjust it, do it like this."

I never thought so many little things would matter so much, but I'd never had my posture critiqued.

Minodora had given me some tips and tricks to make my smiles seem more sincere. I followed them, and that was the one thing she said I did fairly well—apparently, when I put great focus behind it, I could make my face look friendly and inviting. Maintaining that expression, on the other hand, was more difficult. It would have been fine if it were natural; I could be friendly when I wanted to be. But this was all just so fake.

Autumn similarly struggled, but only because she was so meek and quiet and frail—it was already hard to get her to make eye contact at all.

After awhile my irritation grew, but I tried to force it back down. As ridiculous as it was, Minodora did know what it was like here in the Capitol. Surely, following her instructions could only help us attract Sponsors and not humiliate ourselves.

By the end of the three-hour session, Minodora seemed more or less placated, at least for now. She gave me a few more pointers and critiques on things I could work on, but also made sure to note the "vast improvement" from when we first started.

We were only allowed a very quick lunch—I scarfed everything down in less than twenty minutes. I was then faced with a very unpleasant surprise. Before I was sent off with Johanna, Minodora was meeting with the four of us for a quick lesson in…dancing. She wanted to teach all four of us at once so we could be each other's partners.

Great.

Apparently, at the gala tonight, it was possible that some potential Sponsors would invite us to dance. It was a formal affair and, according to Minodora, there was always dancing at a formal affair. I felt sick to my stomach thinking about it.

The dancing lessons felt like infinite torture, though realistically it couldn't have been more than an hour, or slightly longer. She was only teaching us the basics, because according to the escort, "nobody would expect actual dancing knowledge from an outer district!" I should be insulted by the comment, but I wasn't, because it meant I didn't have to spend more time than necessary in this misery. The worst part is that I was forced back into the high heels for this bit, my feet aching in protest.

I was actually lucky in the sense that Ben was my partner, because I thought it would be horribly awkward with Rudd. It was still vaguely uncomfortable when she had him place a hand on my waist, his other hand clasped in mine, while my free hand rested on his shoulder. The proximity was odd, the movements unfamiliar. I decided I'd better get used to it because the Sponsors would be far more unpleasant than Ben if they forced me to dance. Ben, at least, seemed to find it highly entertaining and made multiple teasing remarks. At least we'd more or less made up after our argument. That would have made this way worse.

The height difference was a bit comical, though slightly better with the heels taken into account. Ben was actually not that bad at it, according to the escort, and she also said that I, at least, had some semblance of rhythm and balance on my side…though the heels frequently detracted from said balance. I stumbled on multiple occasions—Autumn was faring far worse—and I had to apologize when I stepped on Ben's toes.

Still, at times, I wanted to laugh as Minodora played some sort of lilting music and instructed us to move about in one of the more open areas of the apartment. I knew Ben was getting a kick out of it, too, but the escort did not seem amused by the fact that I "wasn't taking this seriously enough." I just couldn't take it very seriously, despite the situation. It was so odd and jarring, thinking about dancing with people from the Capitol at a time like this. It seemed like a waste of perfectly good time to learn dancing when I could be dead in a week. I'd rather be spending my time at the survival stations again.

After a while, though, Minodora's barking critiques and annoyed tone of voice due to my strong dislike of dancing started to wear on me. My amusement faded and morphed into irritation. I knew that snapping at her would only make the situation worse, though. I forced myself to keep my grumbling to a minimum and my brain as focused as possible as I endured the rest of the lesson, slowly letting Ben turn me about the room until Minodora stopped complaining and released us, saying it was "as good as it was going to get."

…

It was with some relief that I finally got to sit down with Johanna in a separate room, after Autumn went off with Blight. I was still somewhat uncomfortable, since Minodora had not been kind enough to let me change out of the long gown, but I'd immediately taken off the heels as soon as she was out of sight.

Johanna's face was twisted in a partial scowl as her dark eyes studied me, roaming up and down.

"So." She said after a minute. "It's finally time to figure out just which part of your lovely personality we'll allow the Capitol to see."

I sighed, wondering if this entire session was going to be combative.

"I'm guessing Ben was an easier job," I responded.

"Of course. He's naturally charming. Comes across genuine." She wrinkled her nose. "It's almost annoying, honestly. He's too nice. But those Capitol morons will eat it up, so it works."

How can someone be too nice? I thought. I didn't voice the thought aloud.

Johanna leaned forward. "Sometimes, you do completely brainless things, Twiggy. But I know you aren't always an idiot. And you pulled off the look in the Tribute Parade. You followed instructions." She raised an eyebrow. "Think you can do it again?"

I felt solemn, all of a sudden. Because I realized the real weight behind her question. These next two nights would be extremely important, not only for our Sponsors, but for all of the Capitol to see us. They told us that there would be plenty of cameras at the gala, so nothing we did would go unnoticed. I needed to stand out and be likable, so that they'd vote to pair me with someone useful.

"Yes. I have to," I responded, my tone completely serious.

"Good."

And then we started talking about the various types of approaches and which were best suited for me. It was a long and arduous process—Johanna made no attempt to hold back on the criticisms and explanations for why there was no way in hell I could project a sexy, intimidating or humble personality—but I understood the importance so I worked with her as much as possible.

We ultimately decided on going with a hybrid of my approach in the Parade and what we'd discussed on the train days ago: a bit secretive, no more talkative than necessary, but clever and witty when I did speak, which would hopefully come across as charming.

Johanna was set on micromanaging every aspect of the personality I'd be projecting, especially given her concern that I would become snarky and unlikeable if I got annoyed. There was a fine line between witty and rude, as she'd mentioned previously.

She began to list instructions rapidly. She was in full mentor mode, and I could barely keep up with the quick advice.

"Coming across as a little bit mysterious will allow you to give shorter answers. We want to prevent someone from dragging out a conversation with you, and setting off that temper or annoying you. At least attempt to be charming or witty when you do talk, but don't talk too much. Make every single thing you do say count. Just give half an answer if there's a question or topic that you don't like or don't want to be honest about, and then try to steer the conversation in another direction. And if you're worried about what you're going to say, just compliment them and let them brag about how much money they have. They love talking about themselves more than anything." The last part was said with a disparaging scoff.

I was soaking everything in, trying to memorize her words, as she continued.

"You want to come across as intelligent and quick-thinking, but reserved. For once: do not be an open book saying every single thing you're thinking."Johanna enunciated the words harshly. "We can't have them knowing how much you hate them. There's nothing wrong with giving a partial answer, and then acting like you've got secrets or tricks up your sleeve. You need to let those Capitol idiots imagine that there's something alluring about you that they don't know. They love a good intrigue."

I nodded again. What she said made sense, and I thought I could handle it. I'd be all dressed up by Orea again. Perhaps I could recapture the energy, confidence, and fearlessness I'd had during the Parade.

Now that the basic strategy was in mind, Johanna decided we would move on to the next part of the session, where she would pretend to be an interviewer and grill me with questions. I would have to answer them as best I could, projecting the personality we'd decided on.

It was not easy.

In fact, it was far more difficult than I thought it would be to answer Johanna's droll, mundane, or sometimes ridiculous questions without coming across as snarky or spiteful. I knew she was just asking about things that Caesar or someone at the gala might address, but it was annoying. My innate dislike for the Capitol and this whole process meant that the instinctive responses springing to mind were far too sarcastic or harsh compared to what the Capitol would want to hear. I had to force myself to slow down, to choose my words extremely carefully.

And, on top of all of it, I had to interweave the "mysterious" side of my personality and the lessons that Minodora had taught me earlier, ensuring I maintained the necessary posture and poise. I had to fake coyness, to twist my answers into something clever that would answer part of the question, but leave the Capitol wanting more. I had to make sure my body language matched whatever I was saying, instead of what I was actually thinking.

My first attempts were certainly laughable. I failed, several times, resulting in Johanna asking me the same question—in a more annoyed tone—in order to get a more "appropriate" answer. She'd interweave a snarky jibe here and there. Her mockery grated at my already-fraying nerves, but like this morning, I knew how important it was.

So, I pretended that I was wearing the shell of the mysterious, alluring girl from the Parade. I pretended I had her confidence, her charisma. And, despite the difficulty, I persevered. I was determined to at least become adequate at this. My life might depend on it.

And, despite my fumbling initial attempts, by the end of the time spent with Johanna, I had definitely improved. It was nowhere near perfect—I would have to practice more tomorrow before the interview—but a lot of my answers were passing Johanna's scrutiny on the first attempt now. After nearly three hours had passed, I was dismissed to my quarters.

It was time to go get ready for the gala, and prepare myself to come face to face with the other tributes and the Gamemakers.

…

My prep team and Orea had already been lurking like hawks, waiting to swoop in on me after I left the sitting room, and they ushered me to my quarters in a hurry. This time, we'd just get ready up here.

And this time, there would be no body paint.

Despite it being Orea's specialty, I was told that a long evening gown with jewelry accents was more of the proper formality for this type of event.

Once again, I was forced to keep still as they scrubbed at me in the shower-I had just showered this morning, but apparently that wasn't enough, and had to be cleaned again. They insisted on coating me with some ridiculously fruity-smelling soap, lathering my hair with it, as well.

Then Arsenio was complaining about my nails all over again (training and my infrequent biting had ruined them, shockingly), and had set to work on re-perfecting and newly painting them. I noticed that he chose to use a shimmering gold color, this time.

Althea focused on my makeup, while Lotus was in charge of my hair. Orea herself came and went, barking instructions every time she re-entered the room.

My hair was curled, like it had been for the Parade, and I felt Lotus slide the extensions back into place. This time, though, it wasn't just left down. I felt Lotus spend time curling it more tightly, twisting and pulling at it in odd ways as she went, almost seeming to braid it in places at times. She was clearly working on some sort of complicated hairstyle for the formal event.

I was instructed to close my eyes, after a while, so that Althea could work on powdering my cheekbones then painting my eyelids. She and Arsenio, unsurprisingly, had once again started gossiping early on in the process. My nerves were beginning to pull at me, so hearing them occasionally talk about other tributes kept causing annoyance to bubble under the surface.

I managed to control myself from any snappy remarks, though, and soon Orea was bringing my dress in, covered for maximum dramatic effect (unsurprisingly). I was told to close my eyes as to not spoil the surprise, and something silky-soft was pulled down over my skin. The top was heavy, but the bottom of the dress was so smooth I could barely feel it. It was long, seemingly falling all the way to the floor.

I was then balanced by a person on each side as I had to step into the shoes I'd be wearing for the event. The high heels. They were more comfortable than the ones I'd practiced in with Minodora, I noted with some relief.

I felt something cold and winding clasp around my right wrist, and then my hair was being gently moved out of the way and something else was being clipped to each earlobe.

"Now, open your eyes. Come over to the mirror," Orea commanded imperiously, and I turned back around and obediently followed her, resisting the urge to pull up the gown as it somewhat awkwardly gathered around the high heels. I had to pause for a moment, recalling Minodora's lessons from earlier. I didn't want to make a fool of myself so quickly after getting the dress on.

Once I stared at myself in the mirror, I found that yet again, I was so thankful that I had gotten a talented stylist.

The dress was floor-length, and a beautiful shade of darker green. The top had sleeves a couple of inches wide, but they were meant to be worn off-shoulder, and so they rested on my upper arms, leaving my collarbone and most of my shoulders exposed. The bodice was covered in delicate patterns of lace; it was intricately detailed. The lace was also a darker green, but there was some gold interwoven here in there, subtly. I also saw a few exceptionally tiny gemstones in the lacy fabric that I had to practically squint to see. They created the effect of the dress glimmering and sparkling slightly as I moved. As I examined it closely, I realized the lace patterns just faintly resembled leaves. Orea had still tried to give me something reminiscent of home.

The cut of the bodice dipped slightly into a v-shape just above my breasts, and I saw there was a bit of extra padding there, making me look curvier than I actually was, though I didn't have much cleavage to show. The lace and the patterns stopped at the gathered, narrow waist—which would help emphasize my slenderness—before the dress flared out slightly in smooth, silky fabric that fell all the way to the floor. There was a slit up one leg, but not so high as would be indecent.

I pulled up the dress just slightly and glanced at the high-heeled shoes—they were gold, with a small opening at my toes.

My dark hair was arranged in some sort of complicated side hairstyle I'd never seen before—it was beautifully curled, and part of it had been wrapped and tucked in some sort of fancy, loose semblance of a braid. The entirety of my hair was all drawn to one side and the front, though. Most of the elegant, twisting creation sat on my right shoulder, curls tumbling down far past my right breast. My back and left shoulder felt oddly cold and exposed. There were tiny, gold, delicate leaf-like accessories tucked in a couple of places, the color beautiful and shimmering against the brown of my hair.

There was a similarly golden, expensive-looking bracelet wrapping around one wrist. Jewelry also hung from each ear; intricate earrings in a matching shade of gold that were long enough to brush against the sides of my neck. They created an unfamiliar pulling sensation on my earlobes. I would have to resist the urge to tug at them tonight, I knew. I had never worn jewelry in my ears before.

My eye makeup was done in alternating shades of smoky dark colors at the corners and creases of my eyes, with hints of glittering gold shadow across my lids. My black eyeliner was immaculate, and my eyelashes and brows had been darkened again, making my eyes look far larger than normal. Althea had repeated the technique from the parade of making my skin appear perfectly creamy, my cheekbones higher and more prominent than they normally were.

My lips were fairly natural, again, though Althea had taken extra care that the makeup drew attention to their shape.

I looked more elegant than I ever could have imagined. I could scarcely believe this was me. Like before the Parade, I felt the shell of confidence building up around me, buoyed by my knowledge that my prep team and Orea had made me look wonderful. I tilted my chin up with the newfound determination, the light glinting off the golden earrings.

I smiled, the authenticity coming through the gesture, and turned to Orea. "You've done it again. It's beautiful. Thank you," I said softly.

Orea nodded, as if she expected nothing less than the compliment. I gave a nod to my prep team, thanking them as well. Althea, as expected, was beaming, but the other two looked happy with the results as well.

Now, I just had to pull off the brave and mysterious woman I'd pretended to be in the Tribute Parade, while also managing to come across charming and witty as I spoke with people that I'd probably despise.

And also, I had to do all of that while not toppling over in these shoes.

I took a deep breath, steeling myself for the awful evening that was no doubt to come. At least I'd look good for it.

…

The massive car that took us to the gala was far different than the one that had brought us to the train. This one was black, luxurious, and stretched long enough to hold Ben (looking very handsome in a perfectly-fitted, expensive suit with a fancy green tie that matched my dress) and me, both our prep teams and stylists, Minodora, and Johanna; the others were in a second car.

I'd assumed this event would be held at Snow's mansion, but I had assumed incorrectly. Apparently, the Sponsor luncheon would take place there, but this gala for the Gamemakers was being held at some sort of banquet hall near the City Circle. Minodora was gushing, saying it was the most popular venue in town (outside of Snow's mansion), that it was booked for years in advance, and that we were all incredibly lucky to be able to attend a party there.

I didn't feel so lucky. To me, it was a slap in the face that we were attending an event celebrating the people that would be orchestrating our deaths in a few days.

As we arrived, though, I would admit: it was impressive to behold. The building itself was a grand construction of white marble, imposing columns lined across the front. Intricate sculptures were carved into the marble in places. Front and center of the building sat a very large set of steps, leading up to similarly massive double doors.

My attention was quickly caught by the scrambling horde of screeching Capitol citizens outside, the bright flashes of cameras everywhere. There had to be hundreds of people clustered out here, swelling and swarming outside of the banquet hall. I could already hear the shrieking cacophony of noise as we began to pull up, in line behind several other limousines.

I guessed these were the people not considered important enough to get an invite to the gala themselves. There was a wide marble walkway leading to the steps, carving between the throngs of people. Numerous Peacekeepers lined either side of the walkway, keeping both the cameras and the overall crowd at bay, ensuring they couldn't try to besiege any tributes. So many grasping hands were already reaching out, as the brightly-colored mob desperately wanted to get closer to the tributes exiting their vehicles and walking along the marble path.

"Put on your best smile." Minodora instructed, putting her own large smile on her painted lips. Her eyes lingered on me as she said that.

I didn't want to smile for these people, and I certainly didn't want to smile for the Gamemakers, but I didn't have a choice. I knew that I needed to start projecting the personality Johanna and I had practiced.

The crowd began excitedly screeching again as we exited the vehicle. I channeled everything I'd brought out during the parade, trying to keep my smile noticeable, but mysterious and alluring. I had struggled a bit with the heels when we first started heading down from the Training Center, but then Minodora's lessons had come back and I'd adjusted. These shoes were easier to deal with than the ones from earlier, so fortunately I was able to start walking forward (relatively) easily, all things considered. I wasn't as effortless as Minodora or anywhere close, but for someone from District 7? I thought the crowd might be impressed.

Keeping the smile on as we made our way down the walkway, I turned to the left and waved at the crowd. Then I turned to the right and tossed a wink at a particularly loud bunch, which predictably caused an excited response.

Ben was walking evenly with me, and as usual, the charming grin came easily to him. I didn't really look at any specific faces for too long, but occasionally I would see someone staring in Ben's—or maybe even in my—direction with so much intensity, so much interest, that I was very glad the Peacekeepers were there.

I managed to keep up the façade of the "mysterious and confident and thrilled-to-be-here" tribute until we reached the first step, when I hesitated. I hadn't practiced going up any steps in heels.

But of course, Ben was there, gallant as ever, and immediately noticed my hesitation as he started up the steps. Charming grin still in place, he stepped right back down next to me and held out his arm. "Shall we?" He asked, eyes glimmering.

The crowd ooohed and aahhed, making annoying simpering noises, but I knew it would make for a good show. I also knew it would help me not fall and embarrass myself in front all of the people watching here and on television. Hell, Rowan and my father would probably be impressed that I'd made it this far looking relatively at ease in the Capitol getup.

So, I gave Ben a bright smile in return, and took his arm, perhaps gripping it a bit too tightly as we ascended the stairs and I prayed I wouldn't topple over or trip in these heels.

…

I may have wobbled a few times, but I didn't fall, and soon we were inside the banquet hall.

It was the grandest thing I'd ever seen. Grander, even, than the train, and our luxury apartment. I could not fathom the wealth that was on display here.

The ceilings were extremely high, arching overhead, with beautiful patterns of gold and white stretching above. Every few feet an ornate light fixture hung down, which I now knew were called chandeliers, glimmering with glass and opulence. They threw a warm, romantic light over the banquet hall, supplemented by additional fixtures along the walls. The main area of the banquet hall was exceptionally massive. It had to be to accommodate the tributes, prep teams, stylists, mentors, escorts, Gamemakers, and hundreds of Capitol citizens. Across most of the hall sat large, circular tables, with fancy chairs surrounding them. Each table looked like it would sit maybe a dozen people. The tables were draped in white-lacy tablecloths, which I'd no doubt probably manage to spill something on by the end of the night. It seemed dangerous to provide white tablecloths with how much the Capitol liked wine.

Each table was currently empty of glasses and utensils, as it appeared the dinner itself had not yet been served. There were hundreds of people in here, and more arriving by the minute. Squinting, I realized that on some of the tables sat cards with written curling script, indicating who was meant to sit at them, while others weren't marked at all. At least I wouldn't get separated from my team that way, I hoped. The air was full of chatter, piercing Capitol accents, squeals, and merriment. It washed over me, threatening to overwhelm my senses.

There were areas of the banquet hall not filled with the white-clothed tables, though. In fact, in the very center of the room was a large, open square area. I could see a group of musicians in the center, playing some sort of lilting music on delicate-looking instruments. The sound was barely decipherable above the noise in the room. Surrounding the musicians were dozens of people, dancing. Other ridiculously-dressed groups of people were mingling near the outer edges of the open area, but not bothering to dance. I felt my stomach drop at the sight.

Please, oh please, don't make me dance with anybody, I thought. Despite Minodora's basic lessons today, I had no desire to get out there.

I did notice numerous Avoxes wandering through the crowds, carrying trays piled with various delicacies. The actual meal had not yet been served, but they were still making sure the people had appetizers if they wanted them. I noticed a long, stretching table on the left side of the room that had even more appetizers piled there; citizens clustered about, grasping at the food. Because of course, the Capitol couldn't go hungry for five seconds. Even when we would be eating around seven, according to Minodora.

On the far side of the banquet hall—a good distance from where we stood now—was a bar. It was far more gilded and elaborate than the one on the train and the miniature bar on the District 7 floor. A beautiful, giant floral arrangement was suspended from the ceiling somehow, hanging over the bar area. Perhaps the smell would outweigh the scent of alcohol.

There were multiple servants behind the bar, quickly working to serve the horde of Capitol people that was gathering. Of course, the bar was a popular stop. Personally, I'd only tried alcohol once, after a dare from Brett when he'd somehow smuggled some for us to try—but it hadn't tasted great. He'd brought the absolute cheapest swill from District 7. There must be something better about the Capitol alcohols than what we had back home, though, because otherwise I couldn't fathom its popularity.

The prep team members and stylists quickly excused themselves. Before making their way over towards the bar, they invited Ben and me to join them for a drink. I legitimately considered it, since I'd rather spend time with them than socializing with random people from the Capitol, but I knew it would only make Johanna mad. When we declined the offer, they promised to meet us once it was time for dinner.

After they left, I only felt more exposed in a smaller group, even as Autumn, Rudd and Blight joined us just a moment later.

Glancing around, I noticed that on the far-right wall, there was a slightly raised dais. On the dais sat a long, immense table that I immediately realized was for the Gamemakers. Though they weren't clad in their trademark purple robes, each of them wore some sort of delicate, purple flower attached to the front of their attire, as to be recognizable. The flowers were the exact same shade of the robes they typically wore. It was almost reminiscent of the way Snow always wore a rose, though I didn't recognize what the purple flower was. Plenty of them were already chatting and laughing raucously, though they were sticking to the long table and didn't appear to be mingling with the overall crowd.

I tried to maintain my neutral expression –I had been warned that there would be plenty of cameras in here—but I already wanted to leave, maybe three minutes after I'd arrived. This was an overwhelming spectacle. Our small group had awkwardly made its way over to the side of the room.

I turned to the others, then, not really sure what else to do. "You guys look nice," I said politely. Autumn's dress was flowy and a pale green, attempting to make her look less frail. Rudd had been placed in a slimming vest again, his accent colors matching Autumn's dress. Autumn tried to smile in return, but her eyes darted nervously around the room.

"So, where to?" I asked, then.

Ben looked vaguely uncomfortable, eyes fixed on a loud group of flamboyantly-dressed Capitol people giggling nearby.

"We should get to a table now. The ones for the tributes and their teams are marked." Johanna said, scowling. "I hope those brainless idiots don't get too drunk," she added, eyes narrowing as she threw a glance at the bar.

I kept silent as we began to make our way towards the nearest cluster of tables, Johanna looking for one with a card that was marked for us to sit at. It looked like most of the outer tables were for people from the Capitol, whereas tables more towards the center of the banquet hall were marked for tributes, mentors, and their teams.

We did not get too much further before we were accosted by a squawking trio of Capitol people. They looked as ridiculous as people here always did, but I could tell based on the sheer amount of finery and jewelry that they were highly wealthy. They had to be, if they'd been invited to this event. Minodora said only the richest and most influential people—and their partners, of course—would be here.

I gritted my teeth but smiled as charmingly as I could. Fortunately for me, they mostly wanted to talk to Ben, throwing compliments at him about his appearance, and his score, and his gentlemanly gestures. One of the women was standing far too close to him. Ben, to his credit, didn't move away, though it was hard for me not to scowl at the invasion of his personal space.

"Oh, but if I didn't have my dear husband," the woman said, fluttering her eyelashes suggestively. She then rested her hand on Ben's bicep, giving it a squeeze.

Ben smiled in response. "He's a very lucky man," he replied easily, though I could see the tension in his posture.

This set off a new round of giggling. One of them turned to me then, complimenting my dress. I tried to sound sincere as I gave a small smile, thanked her and tilting my head to indicate the woman's (absolutely gigantic and ridiculous) necklace in return, asking what the jewel was in the center. This seemed to be the right move, because she absolutely preened and began bragging about the gaudy thing. Apparently Johanna had been right about how much they liked to talk about themselves.

Fortunately, a moment later, Johanna broke in and informed them we needed to get a move on. I found myself grateful for the fact that she didn't have to be quite as polite and eager to please as we did; she could extricate us where necessary. We said goodbye to the obnoxious trio and headed towards the tables again.

Near the center of the room, we found a currently empty table with a card that indicated it was for tributes and their teams. Johanna grabbed the card, unfolded it and bent it the opposite way, to where it signaled that the table was occupied.

Autumn and Rudd immediately slid into seats, without hesitation. I was sure Autumn was already tired and probably wanted to leave even more than I did.

I moved to follow them, but Johanna stopped me. "Nuh-uh, Twiggy. Or you, Benny Boy. Look around."

Frowning, I glanced around the room again. It looked like most of the Tributes weren't sitting at tables, nor were a lot of mentors, even if their prep teams and stylists were. A lot of them were mingling with the rambunctious crowd.

"You two don't just get to sit there. It's time to socialize. To take advantage of all the rich people here. This event isn't for Sponsors specifically, but it would be stupid to waste the opportunity to talk to people with deep pockets. No matter how much you don't want to." Her expression darkened. "And the Gamemakers might try to talk to you at some point tonight. So, keep an eye out for when they start mingling. You'll have to suck it up."

My stomach dropped even further. That thought was, quite frankly, worse than dancing. I didn't want to stand and chat with a Gamemaker face to face.

Johanna noticed my expression. "Smile back on your face. Now," she hissed, and I complied, knowing she was right. "The food will be brought out soon, so just suffer through it for a few minutes. I'm sure you can pull it off." Instead of sounding encouraging, the words almost seemed sarcastic.

But I straightened my shoulders, tilting my chin up slightly. Might as well get this over with. At least right now, there was no way out of it. And I knew she was right.

I wasn't sure if I should be jealous that Rudd and Autumn weren't being forced to socialize right now, or if I should just be sad for them. I decided just to not think about it at all.

Johanna began to lead Ben and I in the general direction of the open area in the center of the room. I was actually surprised, at first, that she was coming with us. But then I realized that she probably didn't yet trust me not to make an idiot out of myself and ruin our chances. I guessed I couldn't blame her, after the way I'd mouthed off to Cato.

On the way towards the open part of the banquet hall, we were stopped twice more by Capitol people eager to chat with us.

The first pair was actually fairly tolerable by Capitol standards. The married couple was dripping in gold and jewels, resplendent in their finery. He was a politician, and I expected him to be unpleasant because of that. But they didn't say anything overtly uncomfortable, and they didn't get touchy with us, which was nice. They also didn't overstay their welcome—they complimented us, and our scores, and wished us luck in the Games.

The second group was more unlikable. The two women flirted with Ben, and the man, a very wealthy owner of some business or other, had—to my great discomfort—leaned in and brushed a long, lingering kiss on each of my cheeks in greeting. He'd then blatantly looked me up and down, eyes glimmering with something unpleasant, measuring me up. It had taken great effort not to outwardly show my discomfort, because Johanna and the women hadn't batted an eye...but I had partially expected it by this point. I knew some of these Capitol people would be too interested.

I'd like to see him thrown into the Arena, I thought, but I didn't say it aloud.

Instead, I just smiled at him, and when he asked me what I thought about the banquet hall, I told him it was beautiful, but that I preferred meeting interesting people. He'd asked what sorts of interesting people I'd met, and tried to play coy and keep him intrigued by the conversation, despite feeling sick inside. The man winked before the group departed.

We reached the edge of the open area, then. Johanna fortunately was leading us around it instead of out to the area where the couples were dancing. The crowd was densest here, and soon, yet another group approached us. Then another once they were gone. Then another…and so on.

The faces and names began to blend together. They approached us in twos or threes mostly, though occasionally someone would step up alone. We met more politicians, a few businessmen and women, an extremely popular restaurant owner and his wife, a famous designer, even a couple of people from a television show that was popular here in the Capitol…it was just too much.

I realized that I was going to be really, really tired by the end of the night. In some ways, this was more tiring than training. Almost everyone here was the same—too friendly, too eager to talk to people who could be dead in just a few days. Their smiles were too chipper, and sometimes their eyes lingered too long on each of us. They were just…excessive. In every way. Keeping up the smile and persona was rapidly draining my patience.

I was beginning to understand why some people turned to alcohol to enjoy these parties more.

Almost immediately after the television stars departed, some sort of pleasant noise that sounded similar to bells echoed around the room. Conversations were cut off as the Capitol citizens squealed, eager that dinner was arriving. I found myself breathing a sigh of relief as we—along with the horde of people excited for the upcoming meal—began to make our way back to the tables.

Shortly after most of the hall had returned to their seats, I heard the grating of large doors opening. Excited murmuring echoed around the hall. Avoxes emerged from the massive doors I'd noted earlier, pushing carts upon carts of food. There were so many of them, and the heaps of food were indescribable. Delectable smells wafted around the room, and I could practically feel my mouth watering.

As they arrived at our table and began unloading the carts, I tried to push aside all of the negative thoughts and focus on the food. It was the only pleasant thing about the gala that I could think of.

...

The dinner was the best I'd had since arriving here, with more varieties of dishes than I cared to count. There were meats, sides, sauces, fruits, cheeses, breads, and vegetables I didn't even recognize. Not to mention the desserts. It never seemed to end, even with a dozen of us at the table. The center was piled up with food, but the Avoxes lurked close by with more. The roast turkey with gravy was probably my favorite, along with the buttery, pecan-filled sweet potato dish that had an aftertaste of cinnamon, and some type of fruit that exploded with sweet flavor when I bit into the soft skin. I tried to at least have a small bite of everything, but it was difficult with the amount of food. I had barely tasted half of the dishes, just putting a little bit of everything on my plate, before I was already full. I tried my best to show restraint, knowing this would be the last place I'd want to get a stomachache.

When I slowed down, Eudora (the prep team members apparently weren't notable enough to get to sit at our table, not that there was room) slyly offered me a glass of an unfamiliar beverage. She warned me to drink it in the bathroom, saying it would make me sick so that I could then eat even more.

That actually made me lose my appetite entirely. These people were eating themselves sick so that they could eat more, while people back home starved? I felt a wave of anger, and pushed my plate away, vainly trying to be polite as I turned down her offer.

Then it was time for the all-important speech. An extravagantly dressed man and woman, the main organizers of this event apparently, stepped up on stage, giving an entirely uninteresting (and insulting) speech about how important the Gamemakers were and what incredible work they'd done this year. I stared at them in a half-assed attempt to listen, but I was sure my eyes were glazed over by a couple of minutes into the dry monologue.

Then Plutarch Heavensbee spoke, and I tried to pay more attention in case he said anything interesting. He was full of vague remarks and pretty compliments, though, and it became immediately apparent that his speech was entirely political and meant to flatter. He sounded sincere as he thanked a lot of the generous donors that had helped with the banquet, but behind the praising words, his face was an inscrutable, calculating mask.

I was very relieved—albeit surprised—to see that President Snow was not at the gala. This seemed like something he'd take advantage of to remind us how important the Games were. Perhaps he was just too good for us. The thought made annoyance rise within my chest, which I forced back down.

Then, after a few moments of small talk after dinner and the speeches, the crowd was beginning to stand up and socialize again, even more people gathering around the dance floor.

Johanna demanded that Ben and I rejoin the throngs of potential Sponsors. Apparently, she trusted us a bit more now after our successful socialization earlier, as she told us to go on ahead and she would join us shortly. There was an almost shrewd look on her face, though…and I wondered what was going on in her head. I only hoped that if Johanna was plotting, that it would result in more Sponsors.

Autumn and Rudd were instructed to socialize, too, but neither of them looked particularly inclined to wander around. As Ben and I tentatively began to weave through the crowds, they quickly fell behind.

Ben and I were soon caught up with a flock of four people before we got far, and the charade began again. They looked like strange animals with their fabrics, furs, and strange piercings—one even had eyes slit like a cat's. But I smiled when I was complimented, tried to get the Capitol people to talk about themselves where possible, and suppressed my annoyance at how shrill their voices were. Fortunately, that group did not linger too long.

Unfortunately, things got a lot harder with the next group.

They were two ladies—dripping with jewels, faces painted beyond recognition, wearing colors so bright they hurt to look at. As soon as they reached us, I realized they had no concept of personal space, or they just didn't care. Their unnatural-colored eyes fixated on Ben beside me, and I felt a pang of pity. I'd been uncomfortable with the man that had kissed my cheeks and checked me out, and the overly friendly eyes I'd seen on a couple of others, but these two looked practically predatory.

"Oh, but you are just as handsome in person as on television!" The pink-haired one said, gawking at him. We'd heard this exact line multiple times already. With herculean effort, I resisted the urge to roll my eyes.

"Well, I already knew you would be," the blonde one responded. She puffed herself up with pride, eager at the opportunity to brag. "I got to see you at the Parade! In fact…you nearly caught one of my flowers!"

"That was very nice gesture, thank you," Ben responded amicably.

Pink Hair (as I'd mentally dubbed her since they hadn't bothered to introduce themselves) pushed closer then, a head shorter than him. She looked up at him through clustered, jewel-encrusted eyelashes. "Oh, and you seem like such a romantic," she said. One hand with elongated nails came up to rest on his chest. I felt the sympathy rush over me again. It was horrible, how so many of these people didn't have the concept of personal space.

"I…guess you could say that," Ben responded, managing to keep his voice friendly. Pink Hair giggled, pressing even closer. I felt awkward, wanting to step in before it went too far, but also knowing that could result in trouble.

The other woman, who I aptly named Blonde Hair, looked like she'd just noticed me for the first time. Her head spun to me, purple eyes widening. "Oh! And don't you just look lovely in that dress! So pretty!"

I smiled politely. "Thank you, though yours is far more impressive." I was hoping to draw the conversation from Ben.

Unfortunately, it didn't work this time. Because Pink Hair was still pressed up against Ben, but her head swiveled as she took me in.

"Oh you…" she trailed off, and gave another little giggle. "You were in the chariot too! With the flower!"

Genius observation, truly, I thought.

"That was sooo sweet to watch," Blonde Hair added in an elaborate drawl.

I kept the smile on my face. "Yes, the flower was very beautiful." What else was I supposed to say?

"Mmm. You know," Pink Hair said then. She removed the hand that had been resting on Ben's chest, no longer putting her weight on him, but staying close. She stretched out her arm, pointing one of the elongated nails at me, almost accusing. "You're lucky. Not all of the tributes have such handsome and charming district mates."

I felt a surge of anger, which I tried my hardest to suppress. Lucky. She just called me lucky. I couldn't believe it. In their eyes, I was fortunate because Ben was attractive and I was spending time with him, despite the fact that we were shoved together for a fight to the death. The sheer ignorance of these people was disgusting. I gritted my teeth, my smile becoming fixed on my face.

"You flatter me," Ben cut in smoothly, clearly seeing that I was struggling to control my response to her last comment. His tone sounded a bit more clipped than normal, but I didn't think they could tell.

The women giggled. "Was he such a gentleman back home?" Blonde Hair asked me, tilting her head to the side as if she were some curious animal.

I was trying to regain my composure. "The girls all love him there," I responded truthfully, though my voice came out with an edge to it. It would only make Ben look good, and it would avoid admitting that I hadn't known him that well back in 7. Not that it was really their business.

"Oh, I'm sure," was Pink Hair's response to that. She was now grabbing at Ben's shoulder and bicep, while he had tensed at the prolonged contact. I probably would've shoved the woman off long ago, I thought.

"You're clearly very…strong. I can see why you got a 9," she added, fluttering the eyelashes again.

"Thank you," he replied, a very slight edge in his voice now, too.

Her hand began to wander across his chest. I was legitimately dumbfounded by the openness of it. I supposed we were just pieces of meat, just easy entertainment. They didn't really think of us as human beings, so they didn't care how they treated us. She began to say something else complimentary and her hand wandered lower, towards his abdomen, clearly planning to see if he had muscles there too.

I was revolted. I couldn't help but step in, courtesy be damned. We hadn't been talking to them long at all, but at this rate, the woman would not leave Ben alone and it would only get worse.

I tried to force the friendly grin back on my face. "It was lovely meeting you two, but Ben and I are supposed to go rejoin our mentor soon, she's waiting," I said, my lie (probably) sounding convincing enough.

Blonde Hair looked disappointed but nodded at me, easily accepting my farce. Pink Hair was pouting, staring up at Ben, as if hoping he'd ask her to stay.

Instead, he just gave her a polite smile, but I knew it didn't totally reach his eyes. "Perhaps I'll see you at the Sponsor luncheon in a few days?" I could tell he didn't mean it.

But Pink Hair squealed with excitement, nodding so quickly I thought it might hurt her neck, still staring up at Ben in absolute adoration. "Oh, I hope so! Save me a dance later?" She tossed him an elaborate wink.

Yeah right.

"Of course." A convincing lie coming from him. I didn't think her responsive smile could show any more teeth. She looked like a brightly-plumaged bird of prey.

Then, finally, Pink Hair was turning away from Ben, taking a few steps to pass me. Just as I thought we were free of them, though, she abruptly spun to face me, our faces less than a foot apart. I barely resisted the urge to recoil at her unusually painted face so close to mine. My smile probably looked more like a grimace now. She looked far too eager to say whatever she was about to say.

She leaned in to the side, towards my ear, as if she wanted to whisper some sort of great secret.

However, Pink Hair seemed to be incapable of whispering, or she just didn't care, and her words came out at the same volume she had been speaking in the whole time as she said, "I bet he's great in bed!" She giggled. "If I got to spend as much time with him as you do…" she trailed off, but the implication was clear.

I felt mortification rush to my cheeks, especially since Ben probably heard her.

Seriously? It was rather sad, I thought, that all the Capitol seemed to really think about was appearance, wealth, alcohol, and sex. There could never be anything more to them.

But I couldn't let my embarrassment show, and I couldn't make Ben look bad, either. This was one of those times I could not speak my mind. I was still wearing this costume, and so I was still wearing this persona. What would someone witty, charming and mysterious say?

Fighting through the discomfort, and in no way articulating what was actually on my mind, all I said in response was, "I'll keep that in mind."

Then they were gone, with another giggle from Pink Hair, and I felt almost ill. I glanced at Ben despite my embarrassment. I hoped he wouldn't be mad that I was playing into Pink Hair's comments; I was just trying to get rid of her and not draw any more attention by responding the way I actually wanted to.

"Sorry you had to deal with that. I wasn't trying to encourage her, but…"

"No, I get it," he responded quietly, so that the crowd around us couldn't hear. "It's just…a part of this. We can make it through."

I nodded, as he tossed me a half-hearted smile. I felt sick to my stomach at the whole thing, but I knew he was right. We had to play the game. I just hoped we could leave after another hour or so. The annoyance was simmering under the surface again, and didn't seem to be abating anytime soon. This was only going to get harder.

…

A few more forced conversations later, my patience was pretty much gone, especially after Pink Hair's actions from earlier, and it was hard to keep the mask on. The Capitol voices just continued to grate on my nerves more and more. One of the last men we'd spoken with had lecherously stared at me the entire time. Just blatantly ogled me, shamelessly. That had served to increase my disgust and irritation with these people.

I hated that I had to actually engage with the creep. That was the second time tonight, and Ben had dealt with it even more often than I had.

The next group that approached us caused some initial relief as my eyes fell on Johanna—then immediate annoyance when I saw who she was with.

Finnick, the strawberry blonde girl from District 4 (Azure, I remembered), and Caspian.

At this point I'd worked out that Johanna and Finnick somewhat got along, and I knew this may be part of her plan to get the idea in Sponsors' heads of Ben and Caspian associating, but that didn't mean I wanted any part of it.

I was already having to deal with the Capitol horde of prying eyes and false smiles, and at some point I'd probably have to make nice with a Gamemaker or two. I really didn't think it was fair that I had to deal with the other Tributes too. Especially Caspian. Johanna knew how he'd acted.

How could she do this to me right now?

Johanna made eye contact with me as they reached us (I studiously ignored the group from 4), her expression clearly saying "deal with this, for now."

But I fully planned to sneak away, maybe look for Autumn or Rudd or our prep teams, and just avoid this conversation. I really could not handle it right now, it was all becoming overwhelming. With Caspian around, my self-control would snap.

Unfortunately for me, right as Ben greeted the group and I was surreptitiously glancing behind him to see if I could find anyone I recognized (still ignoring District 4), a group of four excited, jabbering men and women broke through the crowd and joined us. I was now unable to immediately excuse myself, or I'd risk being rude. Fighting back a ferocious scowl, I instead forced myself to smile brightly at the new Capitol arrivals.

Finnick had stepped back slightly to warmly greet them, throwing his arm out to introduce his tributes. Johanna had moved up next to Ben, so now we all stood in a loose circle. There would be no subtle escape for me. I kept a polite smile as she introduced us and the Capitol people responded in turn, their names slipping out of my head almost as soon as they gave them.

"Well, I just think you all look wonderful," a woman with an orange hue to her skin was saying. Her eyes especially lingered appreciatively on Caspian and Ben.

"And to see tributes from different districts standing together…why, this is a treat!" A portly man chuckled.

"The Quarter Quell really helps bring us together," Finnick responded, with his trademark grin that was no doubt making the people swoon tonight.

"Indeed!" The large man just seemed happy that Finnick was even addressing him.

A wiry man with a shock of dark blue hair surveyed the group, a knowing smile on his face. "So, can we expect this friendship to continue in the Arena?" He directed the question at the tributes. He clearly thought he was going to get some sort of sneak peek at an alliance.

Ben smiled as I tried not to stiffen. Friends. As if. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Azure shift almost uncomfortably.

Caspian clearly saw an opportunity, though, and he spoke up quickly before anyone else could. "Well, I certainly hope so, but…" he trailed off then, in a manner suggestive of there being a lot more he wanted to say.

Against my better judgment I looked at the despicable boy, then. He was already looking at me, and the look in his eyes confirmed that this was going nowhere good. I felt my stomach turn as I fought to keep my face pleasant. Whatever Caspian said, I couldn't have a strong outward response. Then he'd win.

"Oh?" The blue-haired man was saying, blue eyebrows raised. "But what? Do tell!" The other three people were nodding and leaning forward, desperate for just a hint of gossip, or the slightest bit of information that could have an impact on their bets for the Arena.

"Well," Caspian put a false mask of sadness on his face that no doubt fooled all of them, "I'm afraid Juniper doesn't seem to like me very much," he was basically pouting.

All eyes swiveled to me, as the Capitol women seemed particularly affronted at his false claim.

How dare he!? I thought furiously. I could tell Johanna was angry too, judging by the way I'd seen her posture stiffen out of the corner of my eye. If she interjected, though, it would only lend credence to his statement.

My anger surged, and my smile tightened as I barely maintained it, though luckily, I had braced myself for something like this. I could not let Caspian win here, and ruin my chance at Sponsors. He didn't get to do that to me. And I had practiced being fake all night; I could do it here.

"You know that's not true," I responded, trying to make my voice sound almost playful. I mostly succeeded despite my anger, and I could tell Caspian was surprised, judging by the way his expression shifted slightly.

The Capitol heads swiveled back towards him. They were really involved in this. I didn't dare take my eyes off him to see how the others from our districts were responding to this. Not like they could really interfere right now.

But he quickly recovered. "Oh really? Well I just assumed, since you didn't want to join me for a dance earlier when I asked."

Bastard, I thought. The Capitol people swiveled right back to staring at me, one woman openly gasping at the audacity of turning Caspian down. My brain scrambled frantically for a response. He was clearly trying to get me to agree to a dance, so that he could get under my skin and probably publicly humiliate me. If I said no, I'd look awful in front of this group of potential Sponsors.

But there was no way that was going to happen, I didn't care what proper etiquette dictated.

I tried to infuse a sly tone in my voice, and shifted my expression to something I hoped was a bit more mysterious, tilting my head to the side.

"I told you I'd love to, but only if I have some wine first. I'm afraid I'm a terrible dancer. Trust me, I'm doing you a favor." I then winked at Caspian.

The wink was accompanied by a sense of self-hatred, but it abated somewhat at the giggles and chortles that resulted from the Capitol crowd. Caspian actually looked caught off guard at my quick-thinking, an eyebrow raised.

"Not much dancing out in District 7, eh? They don't teach you that in school?" The portly Capitol man interjected then, and chuckled loudly at his own terrible (and borderline insulting) comment, the others from the Capitol joining him. I pretended to give a delicate laugh along with him.

"Unfortunately, I have two left feet," I responded sweetly, causing him to chuckle again, though the annoyance was burning in my chest. I needed to take the opportunity to leave, before I snapped at someone. I'd already brought up getting a glass of wine; I could excuse myself for that reason. It wasn't the best excuse, but I probably wouldn't get another window, and I wasn't staying around Caspian a moment longer. As the laughter was subsiding, before the conversation could turn into something else, I continued:

"Since it appears that I'm going to be dancing tonight, I think I'll go have that glass of wine right now to prepare." I turned back to Caspian, shifting my gaze to bore into his. "I'll see you soon!"

That was a lie. I had absolutely no intention of seeing The District 4 boy later. This way, though, I was making it clear that he was not to accompany me to the bar. He'd be hopefully forced to stay behind and chat with the rest of the group.

His amber eyes narrowed slightly, but the potential Sponsors were looking at him now, expectant for his confirmation of a dance that would never happen. "Looking forward to it," was all Caspian said, smirk fully back in place, causing an excited reaction from the flamboyant group.

Tributes from different districts dancing together; that would be quite a sight, something they'd never witnessed before. And never would…but they didn't have to know that right now.

Either way, I was absolutely not staying here and socializing with them a moment longer. I would certainly lose my temper if didn't.

I quickly turned and slid away from the crowd, hoping to put as much distance between me and the District 4 boy as possible.

I knew Johanna was not happy, but I was inwardly simmering at what Caspian had tried to do. The prideful part of me still hated the way I was essentially running away from him, but it was the best way I could handle it, given the circumstances. And I hadn't let him make a fool of me, so that was something.

Maybe I could find Orea or my prep team at the bar. Or maybe I'd just run into someone else from our district on the way there. I'd said I was going to the bar, but once I was out of sight, I could really go anywhere.

I could feel at least one gaze boring into my back as I went.

…

Luckily, due to my small stature and the immense size of the crowd, I didn't draw too much attention on my way to the bar. I was also probably less recognizable on my own, without Ben, I thought. Most of the them towered over me, and I ended up only having to talk to one group of two people as I wandered in that direction. Fortunately, I was able to disengage fairly quickly.

The size of the crowd was fairly overwhelming, and densely packed, especially around the dance floor. I couldn't spot anyone I recognized from District 7, except for the occasional tribute from a different district.

At one point I saw Rory walking with Katniss Everdeen, the Girl on Fire. She looked beautiful in an elegant black dress, smoky makeup around her steely eyes, while Rory looked sharp in all-black attire. I briefly made eye contact with Rory and gave him a small nod, but quickly turned away before I could see his response. I doubted his cousin would want him interacting with a tribute from a different district, and admittedly, she intimidated me. She just emanated a cold fierceness.

The crowd definitely seemed to be getting increasingly drunk the closer I approached to the bar area. The smile of wine, liquor, and flowers permeated the air. I also noticed that while plenty of Capitol citizens were clustered around the bar and waiting in line to be served by an Avox making drinks to order, there were Avoxes wandering around with trays of already-made drinks for those who didn't want to custom order something.

I slowed and glanced around as soon as got somewhat close to the bar, fully intending to just turn and head back to our table or the nearest bathroom (as cowardly as the thought was) if nobody I recognized was nearby. I just needed a break.

Fortunately, a few seconds later, though, I spotted them – Althea and Arsenio, standing and chatting with Ben's stylist Eudora and two other members of his prep team. I felt relief blossom in my stomach. Familiar faces that didn't stare at me lecherously.

She had to be a few glasses of wine in, but I began to automatically walk over, glad to find someone familiar that I could latch onto, at least until Johanna hunted me down. Althea spotted me quickly as I approached, her unusual purple eyes lighting up as she absolutely squealed with delight. "Oh June! You came to join us after all!" She chirped eagerly. Arsenio smiled at me far more broadly than usual, and I assumed he'd also had partaken in a lot of wine.

I tried to keep my face pleasant as I joined the group, the others greeting me similarly with excited smiles and happy compliments. They seemed flattered that I was taking the time to socialize with them, since I was a temporary "celebrity" in their eyes. I tried to approach them from the back side, positioning myself cautiously to hopefully blend in with the group and avoid more Capitol people approaching me. It wasn't too hard, since I was the shortest person in the group, even in my heels (of course, the women in the Capitol wore more exorbitant heels than mine).

"Where are all the others?" Althea asked, peering around me. I could lightly smell wine, but she still seemed in control of all her faculties.

"Oh, they're still chatting, though I'm sure they'll be here soon." I responded, trying to keep my voice light and chipper. "I wanted to see what you all were doing, and check out the bar." Not entirely the truth, but the implied compliment of a desire to associate with them set off another round of excited comments and chatter from the group.

"June! You must try some of this wine!" Eudora said, giggling, holding her glass out. The others voiced agreement.

"Oh, I've never…I don't know if I should…" I said hesitantly, glancing over my shoulder.

Althea frowned. "Oh, it's a party, June! Don't you want to enjoy it a little?"

"Well, yes, but…"

"Then try this! It's delicious!"

I doubt I could enjoy this party at all, but I figured taking a sip of wine wouldn't cause any harm. Plus, I was curious to see what it was all about, to understand why the Capitol citizens went crazy for it.

Nodding, I gently grabbed the glass out of Eudora's hand, glancing down at the dark red liquid, before taking a small sip, trying to savor the taste.

It wasn't entirely what I expected. It was very rich, and strong, with an unusual blend of flavors I couldn't quite place and an aftertaste almost reminiscent of spice and fruit; but, of course, the alcohol lingered on the tongue longest. I preferred normal juice or hot chocolate, but it was certainly far better than the alcohol I had tried once back home.

"That's wonderful," I said, noticing all the eyes were trained on me and my reaction.

And then—against my protests—Arsenio was commanding one of the nearby servants carrying a tray full of wine glasses to come over, and I was soon handed my very own.

I stared down at the innocuous red liquid. I would certainly not be getting drunk at this event. But Althea was assuring me that—even despite me not having any alcohol tolerance—one drink wouldn't do any harm, and that it would help me relax.

I admitted to her that my nerves were a bit frayed from all the stress, and she further assured me that the wine would help with that, too. She said it would make socializing easier.

I knew Johanna would be annoyed…but then I felt that infamous stubborn streak rear its ugly head. I'd done a pretty good job all night. My temper was already frayed from just being at this event and all that entailed. And then, Johanna had forced me into that horrible situation where Caspian had tried to ruin my chances with the Sponsors nearby. On top of that, I was expected to socialize with Gamemakers later?

If a glass of wine could help me relax, I was all for it.

So, I drank it, letting the chatter of the group continue, pitching in here and there as I was expected to. They were mostly gossiping as the minutes passed, so I didn't have much input. My little ruse was working. I didn't stand out compared to the brightly-colored stylist and prep team, and curious eyes seemed not to focus on me for too long. Most Capitol citizens didn't seem as inclined to approach while I was already standing in a large group. Or maybe they just didn't see me behind the exorbitant hairstyles.

I had nearly finished the glass of wine (perhaps drinking it a bit more quickly than necessary, but I wasn't sure of the proper etiquette) when Arsenio gasped excitedly, spotting a pair of Capitol people he was clearly acquainted with, standing closer to the bar. He excitedly hurried over in their direction, beckoning us to join him, just begging me to come meet the people he knew.

I knew that it was a pretty big deal here to be a stylist or on a prep team, given how the Capitol venerated the Games. So naturally, Arsenio would want to show me off. I sighed, knowing it was inevitable that I'd have to begin mingling again, and quickly finished the rest of the glass of wine.

As I assumed what I hoped was an appropriate facial expression again, and we began mingling with Arsenio's acquaintances, I realized that the wine was helping. Althea hadn't lied about that.

I wasn't drunk…or at least, I didn't think I was. My head didn't feel muddled or anything. Instead, I just felt a bit warmer than usual. My cheeks especially. Some of my nerves and inner tension had eased. I found that words came more readily to me, and flowed off of my tongue more easily. It also made me slightly more confident. Or, perhaps I was just less afraid of judgment. If anything, this only helped with the persona I was meant to project.

When I thanked Althea for helping me relax, she handed me another glass from a nearby Avox, with an exaggerated wink. This glass seemed even more full than the last, most of the way to the brim…apparently, they thought I was still far too sober. I knew all of them were very far ahead of me when it came to level of intoxication.

As the group continued to chat around me about mostly nonsense, I made sure to sip on this glass much more slowly. Johanna would kill me if I got drunk. But I could feel the effects of the wine creeping on more noticeably now before I was even midway through, and I knew I shouldn't finish this glass. My cheeks had gotten even warmer than before.

Hopefully we could leave soon, and I wouldn't have made too much of a fool of myself tonight. I actually felt the tiniest hint of optimism at the thought.

After we finished speaking with Arsenio's friends, I realized the glass-and-a-half of wine and the full glass of water at dinner were adding up. I quietly excused myself to go to the restroom after Althea pointed me in the right direction.

Luckily, we were at the back of the banquet hall near the bar, and there was a bathroom not terribly far away. I was quickly able to reach the edge of the room to try to avoid interaction with others. The dramatic decrease in noise as I entered the washroom was a relief. It was gilded and beautiful, with rows upon rows of stalls. There was even an adjoining area before entering the main bathroom itself, with servants holding cups of water or waiting on us where necessary. Excessive, in my opinion.

One of them took my half-empty glass of wine as soon as I walked in—I hadn't even been aware I was still clutching it, which probably wasn't a good sign—so that I wouldn't have to bring it in with me.

After taking care of things, I checked myself in the mirror before I departed. Fortunately, my makeup was still perfectly in place, my dress elegant and glamorous. My cheeks were a bit pink, even through the makeup. The effects of the wine. There was just the faintest buzz in my head. Minor, but present. I felt pretty confident right now, and slightly less frustrated and annoyed than before. The wine had done its job.

I left the bathroom, the Avox returning the glass of wine to me as I did so. I clung to it like a lifeline, even though I didn't plan on drinking any more of it. I didn't want to risk getting fully drunk.

I meandered back towards the general bar area, trying to skirt around the edge of the banquet hall as much as I could. I cut into the crowd once it was unavoidable, looking for the familiar faces again. It was so incredibly crowded. I thought I getting closer to the general vicinity of where Althea and the others had been, but it was hard to weave my way through the clustered groups. My progress was slow, but the noise seemed to have reached an all-time high. Peals of laughter and raucous comments pressed on my ears. The volume of the crowd made the effects of the wine even more obvious; everything just seemed too loud, too bright. Every face was beginning to look the same at this point. Surely they couldn't be too far away?

To my great distaste, it appeared that a few Gamemakers had started to mingle with the crowd, as well. I could only hope I'd be lucky enough to avoid eye contact with any of them.

Then, I squeezed past another group and my eyes fell on someone standing out amongst the Capitol crowd. Someone I hadn't seen yet tonight and very much did not want to see: Cato.

I felt my steps slow as I quickly scanned him. He wasn't directly facing me, I was looking at his profile; but I knew that if he happened to turn slightly and gaze over the heads of the Capitol women next to him, then he'd see me immediately. He was dressed in a dark, fancy suit like Ben, and it had clearly been tailored as much as possible to accentuate his build, while still looking elegant.

The boy from 2 was currently surrounded by no less than four, overly excited, probably drunk, Capitol women. He towered over all of them, despite the heels they wore. They were absolutely fawning over him; it was sickening. These women shouldn't be looking up at him as if he were some sort of divine being. As if he were the most incredible thing they'd ever seen. He was hardly human; all he cared about was killing and glory.

Then again, those were some of the only things the people in the Capitol cared about, too. So of course they'd look at Cato as if he were some miracle in human flesh.

I would admit it, though—whatever mask he was wearing looked convincing, compared to the hateful expression I'd seen frequently. Right now, Cato looked poised and calm, self-assured. He wasn't smiling like Ben and I were instructed to; he didn't have to. Everything about his expression and stance oozed confidence, determination, while his build made his underlying strength obvious. He looked perfectly comfortable interacting with these people, yet his mere presence alone was still imposing.

He was perfectly embodying how a Career should act around potential Sponsors.

And, as always, everything about him both intimidated and angered me. Especially when I remembered his spiteful words about my district—all the outer districts, really—on the roof.

I turned slightly, planning to slip back into the crowd in the opposite direction, even if it meant I had to use a more roundabout route to find Althea and the others.

As soon as I turned, though, I was immediately stopped by a middle-aged Capitol man with a beard and hair the color of blood, insistent on talking to me.

I plastered my smile back on as he began to make conversation, but my whole body felt stiff. I was slightly turned from Cato, now, but even being this short of a distance from him was not ideal. I only hoped he wouldn't happen to turn and notice me. Awareness prickled on the back of my neck as I continue to talk to the man, but I hoped it was just paranoia. Paranoia because my back was turned to a threat.

Though surely, he wouldn't approach me in this crowd. If anything, he'd give me a death glare and pretend I didn't exist. That I could handle. Especially with the wine helping ease my nerves and boost my confidence.

I pretended to be rapt with interest as the man began to describe his occupation (I'd asked him in order to avoid having to talk about myself), and almost without thinking, took another sip of my wine, as if that would help get me out of this situation. At least the drink made it a bit easier to talk to people I didn't want to. Perhaps I'd have some at the Sponsor luncheon too.

A couple short minutes later I was thankfully free of him, after I promised—with a secretive smile—that I had tricks up my sleeve for the Arena.

Before I slipped back into the crowd, I couldn't help myself; I turned back slightly, eyes seeking out the boy from 2. Perhaps it was just some sort of innate survival instinct, but I needed to see if he was still nearby.

He was.

And now, there were two Gamemakers standing with him, a man and a woman. I vaguely recognized them from television and the gymnasium, but I didn't know either of their names. Cato had turned slightly to converse with them, and seemed to be listening to something the male Gamemaker was saying, but due to his height advantage I was now easily in his line of sight.

And then, his eyes slipped up, quickly finding mine. Apparently, the awareness I'd felt while speaking with the blood-haired man hadn't been paranoia; Cato had noticed my presence nearby. The eye contact was too immediate for him not to have already figured out I was there.

I felt the standard unease unfurl in my stomach caused by making eye contact with Cato, but it was more muted than normal. I didn't have the immediate instinct to turn and flee. I figured I had the wine to thank for that. Fueled by the thought that he was having less of an effect on me right now, I tried to meet his gaze as steadily as possible, tilting my chin up slightly, narrowing my eyes as I stared at him. I wouldn't let him intimidate me; not here. Not while I was wearing this dress. Not in front of Gamemakers and potential Sponsors. Not while I had some liquid courage humming in my veins. Here, I was supposed to be confident and mysterious, not a sniveling coward.

His mask of calm and poise slipped, just briefly. Dislike blazed out from those chilling eyes, and his jaw clenched. A dark scowl crossed his rigid features. I could tell that I was probably the last person he wanted to see right now. Well, the feeling was mutual. I despised him.

Cato—to his credit—quickly got his expression under control again and tore his gaze back to the male Gamemaker, who was still chatting amiably. Unfortunately, the female Gamemaker was more observant (or possibly less drunk) than her companion. She had noticed Cato's brief distraction. Her head turned to the side slightly, sharp gaze falling on me, measuring me. My eyes slid off of Cato and over to her.

I immediately tried to shift my expression back into what I hoped was a pleasant smile, instead of whatever look of strong dislike was probably on my face after staring at Cato. The last thing I wanted to do was glare at a Gamemaker. I hoped she realized my scowl wasn't meant for her.

The woman's delicate red lips curved into a smile, and her dark eyes glittered. She had picked up on something. She raised one pale hand, with long red nails that matched her lips. She beckoned me to come over to her. Her expression was calculating. The gesture wasn't a request; it was a demand.

She had seen the distaste between Cato and me. And clearly, she wanted to force an interaction. I shouldn't be remotely surprised. She was a Gamemaker, and lived for this sort of thing. This was her specialty. No doubt she'd look for a way to leverage our intense mutual dislike in the Games, for drama. Her conniving expression was reminiscent of Plutarch's when I'd seen him on television.

Despite my body feeling warmer than usual because of the alcohol, I felt a chill trickle down my back. But I couldn't cower. Not now. I tried to keep my face pleasant, despite my mouth feeling suddenly dry. Still clutching the glass of wine, I made my way over to the group, straightening my spine and hoping that my posture came across as confident.

I kept my gaze affixed to the woman, not Cato, though I sensed when his eyes found me again. I was sure he was furious, feeling like someone beneath him was going to be associating with him at a public event. I didn't want to be here either, though.

Perhaps we could leave the gala entirely after this. I would have socialized with two Gamemakers, after all. As I glanced at the male Gamemaker and noted his red cheeks and somewhat bleary eyes, I realized he was probably several glasses of wine in.

"You look lovely, dear," the woman spoke as I joined them. She was very striking. Pleasant looking, for someone who murdered children. She had jewelry hanging from her ears and woven into her deep blue curls. Her red lips stood out against pale skin. It was impossible to tell her age; her wealth made sure of that.

"Thank you," I replied politely. "I couldn't have asked for a better stylist or prep team." Despite my pulse hammering in my ears, my voice came out evenly, confidently. I kept my bearing as straight and poised as possible.

"I'm sure," she responded genially. "I am Liviana Vita." She gestured at her companion. "And he is Avitus Falto." Both the names sounded foreign to me, as all Capitol names did, though I supposed I didn't usually remember Gamemakers' names anyway. Outside of Plutarch's and Seneca Crane's last year.

The man named Avitus had stopped talking to Cato, and his eyes had focused on me. They were a shocking shade of green, clearly altered somehow. He squinted, trying to place me, the alcohol probably not helping him think quickly.

"District 7?" Avitus asked. He smelled faintly of both wine and liquor, partially masked by the lovely purple flower that was affixed to his extravagant suit. I supposed I should be glad he recognized me. It meant Ben and I had really stood out in some way. Then again, 48 tributes wasn't that many to memorize, when it was the Gamemakers' job.

"Yes. Juniper Ainsley," I affirmed, smiling pleasantly at him.

"Hmm, yes. Tiny little thing. Surprised a few of us during your private session." He chuckled, then, as if he'd already written me off entirely before I scored a 7. Most of them probably had. Not that a 7 was an amazing score, but it was decent for an outer district.

I scrambled for something to say, since he probably meant it as a compliment. "I'm glad to hear it. I didn't want to let my mentors down."

Liviana's red-lipped smile widened. "I'm sure it's quite interesting, having Johanna Mason around."

That I could answer sincerely. "Never a dull moment."

She laughed delicately as Avitus joined her, though her mirth didn't reach her eyes. The calculating expression was back, and I knew she was about to try to get some entertainment out of this. She had beckoned me over for a reason, after all.

And I knew I wouldn't like it. Liviana was a Gamemaker. Her sole function was to torment others for the Capitol's amusement. I had no idea how Gamemakers were selected, but I'm assuming it required a lot of ruthlessness.

Sure enough, she inclined her head towards Cato. "Have you been introduced to Mr. Hadley?"

I didn't look at Cato, keeping my eyes on her as I nodded. "I've seen him around during training, though mostly from a distance." I responded vaguely. What a ridiculous question, anyway. As if any of us would need an introduction to the most dangerous tribute in the Games.

One dark eyebrow rose as Liviana observed me, not buying it in the slightest. Her eyes slid to Cato, who was standing there silently. Despite myself, I felt my gaze following the Gamemaker's. The blonde boy's face was composed in a perfectly neutral mask. I hoped my own mask was as convincing.

"Interesting. I was under the impression that you two had already been acquainted." Her voice was deceptively smooth. She hadn't missed the way Cato had glared at me earlier, and her words were directed at him this time. I was sure he hated the implication.

He kept his poise and cool tone, eyes shifting to her. "I've been focused on preparing for the Games. Haven't really socialized outside of that."

At least, not with people outside his district, I mentally added. I was sure the Gamemakers had noticed the Careers sticking together during training.

"Of course," Avitus said, beaming at the Career. He was probably one of Avitus' favorites. Or perhaps the man was just that drunk and easily pleased.

The woman's dark eyes glittered as she tilted her head slightly. "That is for the best, I'm sure. Socializing too much with other tributes can cause…issues, in the Arena. Mistakes." Her expression shifted to a knowing one, and I felt something in my stomach clench. "Though, I'm sure I don't have to tell you that, Mr. Hadley, given your family's history in the Games."

I barely resisted the impulse to wince. I hated Cato, but her words were conniving, and cruel. Intended to provoke him, to cause some sort of reaction. To make him angry. Anger would make for a more driven, bloodthirsty Career; a better performance in the Arena.

And I was standing right here. The young, female tribute from Distinct 7 that directly reminded Cato of his sister's failure. Liviana had timed her words for when they'd cut the most. She'd planned this exact scenario as soon as she saw our brief little stare-down.

Cato's face hardened, and I saw a hint of anger in those icy eyes, but he smothered it quickly and did not otherwise react.

"Those mistakes will not be repeated," he said stiffly, because Liviana was clearly expecting a response.

Her smile was wide, once again not reaching her eyes. "That remains to be seen."

The words themselves were neutral, but Liviana's tone was meant to get under his skin.

Avitus was more easily pleased, clapping a hand on Cato's broad shoulder. The many rings adorning his fingers flashed in the light of the chandelier above. Cato didn't even flinch or outwardly react to the contact. "Oh, ignore Liviana," he said, waving a hand at his colleague almost dismissively. "She likes to act like she's hard to impress. Plenty of us know you'll put on a great show this year. Especially after that 10!" He beamed. He was speaking a bit too loud for what the situation called for. Liviana's eyes narrowed, but didn't respond.

Cato's face was once again impassive, but he nodded in response. "I'm ready to show what I can do in the Arena."

"And we can't wait to see how you'll handle the unique challenges of this year's Arenas!" Avitus nearly seemed to be beside himself with excitement, face flushed. He turned to glance at me again, as if I were an afterthought to him. "All of the tributes, of course!"

I tried to give him an amicable smile, not trusting myself to come up with a witty response.

Liviana wasn't done stirring the pot, however. "I'll be curious to see your strategy in the Arena, Miss Ainsley," she remarked coolly. "As well as who you'll choose to ally with."

I wasn't sure where she was getting at, and I didn't want to take the bait. "I wouldn't want to spoil the surprise this early," I responded, hoping I sounded coy.

"That young man from your district is quite promising. Perhaps you'll stick together?" She was clearly getting at something.

"Ah, yes! He scored a nine, correct?" Avitus cut in excitedly. Apparently, he only cared about our scores. He kept bringing them up.

"He did. He was very pleased," I responded as neutrally as possible.

"An impressive score for an outer district." Avitus muttered, squinting his eyes again as if he was lost in thought, though I doubt all the alcohol let him think too deeply.

"I'm sure quite a few potential Sponsors have approached him tonight," Liviana added. "He seems quite popular here in the Capitol."

What was she trying to do, make Cato jealous? It seemed like she'd pull something like that. But what was I even supposed to say?

"Yes, it has certainly been an eventful evening," I responded.

Liviana's dark eyes shifted back to Cato, and her sly tone was back. "Someone like that could pose a challenge, even to our strongest tributes, if they aren't careful."

My suspicions were confirmed. She was trying to get at Cato's ego, his pride, by implying that someone from District 7 could be a challenge for him. I was right…this woman was truly was ruthless, and despicable. All she cared about was riling up the brutal boy from 2 in the hopes it would lead to a more exciting Games. And every time she did it, it was only going to cause more trouble for me, not that she cared.

She and Caspian would get along.

"Quite true, quite true!" Avitus responded. "We'll be keeping an eye on him!"

"Last year's Games taught us that even the most prepared can be caught off-guard. It certainly makes things interesting," Liviana added, the unpleasant tone still permeating her voice, her eyes still on Cato.

But Cato wasn't looking at her or Avitus; his gaze was on me again, and I could see the anger at her goading lurking underneath. Anger that he probably wanted to take out on me.

Liviana seemed to miss nothing. Those painted lips were stretched in a smirk.

Apparently, she was satisfied with what she'd accomplished. She turned back to her colleague, who looked like he was prepared to engage Cato in another mundane conversation.

"Well, Avitus darling, I think we should be going. Plenty of other tributes to meet," she drawled.

He looked a bit put-out, but sighed. "Yes, yes. Lead on," he muttered, before giving me a nod, and clasped Cato's shoulder again, enthusiastically. "I'll be looking forward to your Arena performance," he added, mainly to Cato.

It was awful, thinking about what those words actually meant.

"As will I," Liviana added with another cunning look, eyes boring into mine for a heartbeat longer, making it clear she was referring more to me. Her implication was even worse.

Then they were gone, leaving me alone with a very irritated Career who was probably blaming me for all of his problems.

I fully intended to just turn and disappear into the crowd as I'd originally planned. I didn't want to sit here and tolerate another round of insults, especially while still feeling somewhat affected by the wine. Who knew what would come out of my mouth if I felt emboldened? It had helped me relax and open up around Althea and the others, but now, the conversation with the Gamemakers had just made me feel jittery and unbalanced. I was uncomfortable again, even though I thought I'd handled myself well.

Before I could move, however, Cato spoke, making it abundantly clear that he wasn't going to just let that go.

"Did you enjoy that, 7?" He asked coolly, but I could hear the current of tension underneath.

I stared at him. "Enjoy what, exactly?"

"All of the wonderful praise for you and your district partner, straight from the mouths of the Gamemakers." Sarcasm dripped from his tone.

"Did I look like I was enjoying that?" I asked incredulously. Surely, he wasn't that dense.

"I assumed you'd appreciate the compliments more. I doubt you get them often."

Apparently, we were just straight into the insults now. I resisted the urge to glance around, for once hoping that another Capitol group would approach to try to speak with us. We were near the corner of the room, but there were plenty of people around.

Or maybe, they didn't want to interfere in our conversation. I was sure the pair of us were fascinating for passersby to watch.

"You honestly think that's my priority right now?" I demanded.

"You should enjoy it while you can," He bit back, eyes glittering with menace, but I refused to be publicly intimidated by this monstrous boy. The annoyance—suppressed for a while by the alcohol—was stirring again, unfurling in my stomach, making me braver…and less likely to back down.

"You may find it hard to believe, but this is not my ideal evening," I bit out through gritted teeth.

He raised an eyebrow. "I do find that hard to believe, actually."

"Oh? You think I'd want to spend my time associating with people that want to k-" I hissed, then abruptly cut off. The crowd around us was loud, and I was pretty sure only Cato could hear, but I couldn't slander the Gamemakers. Especially since there were always cameras not terribly far away.

"I'd think this place is a massive step up from where you come from. You should be grateful." Derision dripped from the words.

My hands balled into fists as I stared at Cato. Here he was again, insulting my home district, thinking he could get away with it. I knew he had a personal hatred for District 7, but it still made me angry. I felt words pouring out, the wine inhibiting my self-control.

"Grateful. To be here instead of back home, with my family? Seriously?" My voice came out louder that I wanted it to.

He shrugged coolly, looking unimpressed. I felt more anger rise, threatening to choke me.

"You need to stop talking about my district like you're better than us just because of where you were born." I added.

Cato's expression hardened. The condescension was still in his gaze. "Most of you are too cowardly to take responsibility for your problems. So I-"

I cut him off in a heated rush. "You were born into wealth and luxury, in one of the Capitol's favorite districts. You've never wanted for anything. How could you pretend to know what it's like in an outer district?"

Dimly, I realized that the nearest group of Capitol people had overheard my raised voice and were turned, observing us with vivid interest, two tributes glaring at and arguing with each other, but I was so annoyed I didn't care.

"You don't know shit about District 2," Cato snapped, and now his massive hands were balled into fists, his voice matching mine. Again, I'd struck a nerve by referencing his district. The sheer fucking hypocrisy.

"And you don't know shit about District 7, you hypocrite, so stop acting all superior!"

"I don't have to act superior. The difference is obvious every year during the Games." He countered scornfully.

I gaped at Cato for a second, truly not understanding how his mind worked like this. How he could have been twisted, from such a young age, to care about nothing else but the Games. How he could have convinced himself that the outer districts were somehow at fault for their own circumstances, as if we were weak because we didn't train our tributes to kill.

"Is that seriously all that matters to you?" I demanded, voice still louder than a normal conversational tone. "All you think about? Winning the Games?"

"As if you can fathom the concept of victory, of bringing pride and wealth back to your district.," Cato snapped back.

In almost any other circumstance, I would almost feel sorry for him…like any Career, he was totally brainwashed.

A few more nearby people seemed to have noticed our heated discussion and were observing us; I could feel their gazes pressing in from all around. But my temper had made an appearance, fueled by the liquid courage, the frustrations from the day, and Cato's constant insults to both me and my district. I wasn't backing down like I had on the roof. Not again. Cato probably expected me to back down again, to just let him say whatever he wanted, and that thought only fueled my anger.

"There are way more important things in life than being taught how to kill!"

Cato scoffed, "How ironic that you'd say that, when you'd have a much better shot at staying alive if you'd been trained."

Teeth gritted, I bit out, "At what cost? My entire childhood?"

"Implying what?" His tone suggested I should tread carefully, but I didn't care right now. I pressed on.

"Implying that I was raised to be understanding of others, to have empathy, to value life. You can't even comprehend the concept of being human. I'm glad I wasn't raised like you were." I spat back, derision in my own voice.

A violent expression crossed Cato's face, then, his eyes boring into mine. If thoughts could kill, I would already be dead. In any other scenario, I would be terrified, but I was caught in the tide of my fury and frustration.

"You should keep your mouth shut about shit you don't understand," he gritted out, voice deeper than normal due to his anger.

"I understand perfectly. I understand that you're completely obsessed with proving yourself, and you're projecting all of your problems because of it!" I snapped heatedly.

I could feel all the eyes pricking at my skin. The nearby Capitol people continued to observe our argument, and some of the groups that had been positioned closest to us had actually shuffled away a bit, creating a space around Cato and me. As if we were diseased. The banquet hall itself still teemed with noise, but the nearest onlookers were silent, soaking this in, likely already planning tomorrow's gossip. We were speaking above a normal volume, so I was sure they could catch most of the words even with the buzzing chatter and raucous laughter in the background.

I didn't care about the crowd, though. My words hung thickly in the air, and the blood was pounding in my ears. My entire body felt hot. The buzzing in my head had worsened.

Cato's expression had twisted into something nearly unrecognizable, a rigid mask, eyes burning with fury; because we both knew that, to some extent, I'd hit the nail exactly on the head. And he couldn't stand it. He couldn't stand that I was right, that I'd called him out publicly.

He slowly took a step forward, then another, until I was looking right up at him. The brutal boy towered over me, more than a foot taller than I was. For a split second, despite the wine-induced bravery, despite the logic telling me he couldn't strike me in front of all of these people, I thought he might reach a hand out. I thought he might just wrap that hand around my throat, and choke the life out of me. I could see the desire to do that in those icy blue eyes. I felt the familiar cold chill of fear grip my spine, but with everyone watching, I couldn't back down. My body wanted to flinch, back away, but I gritted my teeth and resisted the instinct. It took everything I had.

When Cato spoke, his voice was low, just above a whisper. I had to strain to make out the words, and I knew he wanted to minimize the chance of an onlooker overhearing us over the background noise. "It looks like I'll have to start proving myself by killing you first in the Arena." His face twisted into a cruel sneer, more hatred and malice in his tone than I'd ever heard. "But look at the bright side. At least your mother isn't around to see it. I'm sure she would have hated to watch you suffer."

Then he brushed past me, carelessly jostling me as he moved to stride away.

I saw red.

Anger, as I had never known it, overwhelmed me. Cato's words struck at something so dark, and so deeply buried, that I hoped to never unearth it. It was the most painful thing I'd ever endured, and had permanently scarred me. He couldn't have known that I had watched my mother suffer as she died from illness, and that part of me had felt like it was dying with her. I had been forever changed after seeing her slowly wither away. Objectively, I knew the coincidence of his choice of words might be unintentional…but the fury burned through me nonetheless. It wiped out all sort of rational thought in its wake.

My body, spurred by the red-hot tide of rage enveloping me, moved on its own accord, and I spun to glare after his retreating form.

"Fuck you, 2,"I hissed, with as much venom as I could muster. Simultaneously, my left arm and hand—still clutching the wine glass—pulled back, then jolted out and forward. It was a strong, quick movement.

Cato spun around instantly, driven by instinct and training, and raised his arm immediately to block a blow, even though he was a few feet away. But I wasn't trying to strike him.

Time seemed to slow down. The remaining red wine that had been in the glass splashed forward with my heated movement, leaving its container, arcing through the air like a spray of fresh blood. Some of it splattered across Cato's raised arm and behind it, onto the white shirt he wore under his suit jacket. The crimson stood out starkly against the white material, almost giving the appearance of injury. The rest of the wine fell short of my primary target, sprinkling onto the floor or Cato's fancy shoes. I didn't care.

The crowd of onlookers gasped, shocked murmurs breaking out around us.

I stood there, shoulders heaving, staring at my handiwork: Cato, with his clothes partially painted with the stains of the remainder of my wine.

He stood there for a brief moment, completely still, staring at me almost incredulously.

As if he couldn't believe I'd had the audacity to throw my wine onto him.

And a second later, heartbeat still hammering in my ears because of my searing anger, I realized what I'd done.

I'd just heaved half a glass of expensive red wine onto the biggest threat in the Games, in front of onlookers, and maybe even in front of cameras.

I was in deep shit.

…

A/N: This was the hardest chapter to write so far. I wanted to make it all easy to visualize and keep a fairly quick pace, but I had to make the event itself believable. It's pretty screwed up to think the Capitol is forcing all the tributes to attend an event celebrating the Gamemakers, but I feel like it's exactly something Snow/the people in charge would do.

I also wanted to make sure the dialogue flowed well, while staying in character. Hopefully I did an ok job!

Next chapter, Juniper deals with the fallout of her actions, and the solo interviews take place. ;) I hope to have the next one out within the next week.