Disclaimer:
I do not own the Hunger Games book series. It is the property of Suzanne Collins and the publisher Scholastic Press. The movies are owned by Lionsgate and other associated producers and creators. I am simply a humble fan, writing this for the enjoyment of other fans. Please support the official release.
It's almost a surreal moment. After seeing both of them during the games for years, I can't quite believe they're here in front of me. Cashmere and Finnick are legends, two of the most popular Victor's ever to come out of the Hunger Games. They were so popular that when Augustus Bran won two years ago, his team tried to market him as Panem's favorite son, to which Finnick was promptly voted into that position by the Capitol. Augustus, if I remember right, is one of District 1's most popular tributes, but Cashmere's brother outshines him.
I'm wondering what they're doing here, which I promptly think is a stupid question. Cashmere won the Sixty-Fourth, and Finnick the Sixty-Fifth. I'm four numbers away from them. Why I'm in the Capitol and have no tribute, I might be seeing a lot more of the two Victor's in the future. Then again, the careers tend to normally last long into the games, so many not.
"Gale Hawthorne. Our newest Victor," Cashmere seemed to purr, her eyes boring into me. "See. Aren't you glad we didn't stay in the hotel?"
The word is mostly unfamiliar to me. We don't have hotels in District 12 unless you count the inn. But the way Effie described them, they're not the same thing. "Hotel? I thought we can only live here," I say, my mouth moving before I really think about what I'm saying.
"This is our official residence in the Capitol," Finnick says, staring me down. His gaze didn't seem to be threatening or angry. "We can stay in other places. Like a hotel, but this is our residence. Anything you buy that can't be taken back to your district will stay in your apartment."
Cashmere laughs. "It's a pleasure, Mr. Hawthorn. Welcome to the club. I would love to stay and get to know you, but the Minister of the Interior expects me. I shouldn't keep her waiting."
Cashmere winks at me and I can't keep the blush off my face. Finnick, seeing this, laughs as she stalks away, her hips swaying. "Don't mind Cashmere. She's a tease."
Even from behind, she looks just amazing, I think. "Right," I say.
"Where's Haymitch? Shouldn't he be here minding his newest Victor?"
For some reason, his comment makes me angry. "I don't need a minder," I hiss, shooting the most popular Victor to ever come out of the arena a glare. Instead of taking offense, a devilish smile appears on his lisp.
"Some people might disagree. You're only thirteen," Finnick says. The remainder of my age does nothing to soothe my anger. Nor does the fact my parents would agree. "The youngest Victor in the history of The Hunger Games."
"Sorry I beat your record," I snap. My prep team had been constantly talking about it since I came out of the arena. How I beat the legendary Finnick Odair, becoming the younger tribute to ever step out of the games alive.
"You certainly did. When do you turn fourteen?" He asked.
"Why do you want to know?" I answer my own question. It seemed strange that Finnick cared about when my birthday would be.
"Call it curiosity," Finnick said.
"January," I say curtly.
"Next month? How interesting. Will you be celebrating it in the Capitol?"
The idea of spending my birthday here, away from my family, doesn't sit well. Surrounded by people who don't know how freakish they look. People who laughed and cheered while I fought for my life in the arena. "I don't see how I can," I say instead. As a Victor, Haymitch has told me that I can only return to the Capitol during the games, if my winning tribute is on the Victory Tour or if I'm summoned. I can't just call up a train and go to the Capitol whenever I want.
"I don't think so," I answer.
"I suppose not. I would love to stay and pick your brain, but like Cashmere, I have other engagements. It was nice meeting you, Mr. Hawthorne. I'll see you next year for the games. I'll be mentoring as well," Finnick says, before thrusting his thumb onto the scanner, and opening a door that reads 65.
As Finnick disappears into his apartment, I'm left thinking about next year's games, and how I'll be mentoring some poor kid from Twelve. It took Haymitch nineteen years before he got a Victor. Summer Vale, our first Victor, thirty-eight years. It's an uncomfortable reminder that I could be spending years mentoring kids, watching them die over and over again.
Shaking my head, the black, sleek car is waiting for me when I get down. Atticus smiles as he holds the door open for me, closing it as soon as I climb in. "Where to, Mr. Hawthorne?" He asks as he takes his spot in the front.
I shrug. I might be able to freely move around the Capitol, but I don't anywhere anything is. "Someone to get food. What do you recommend?" I ask. Atticus smiles.
"I know just the place, sir."
He drove me to a small a large building, which he identifies as The Red Lounge. A five-star lounge and restaurant he calls it, but the meaning is lost on me. As he opens my door and I climbed out, the people outside turn to look at us. As soon as they see me, whispering conversation breaks up, with most of them pointing at me. People call out greetings as I pass, asking me how I like the Capitol, but other than smiling at them, I offer nothing.
Once I'm inside, an older woman asks if I'd like a private room. As more people become aware of my presence, turning and pointing, I thank her and agree.
Roasted pig, creamy pumpkin soup, and cooked sea creatures are brought before me in courses. Colorful alcoholic drinks are presented to me, but I turn them away, reminding them of my age. They tell me that as a Victor, I'm allowed to drink and smoke to my heart's content. Knowing my parents will disapprove, I make sure they know I don't want them. Instead, they offer me a beverage called soda, which is pleasant enough in its own right.
By the time the meal is done, I feel like my stomach is ready to burst open. I make it back to the car, where Atticus is waiting for me, and ask him to drive me back to Victory Tower. I'm asleep as soon as I hit the bed, not even bothering to change my clothes.
It's the first time since I won that I have a dreamless sleep, and I wake up feeling refreshed. Atticus is there when I head back down, offering to take me back to the train station. Thanking him, when we pull up, I offer to leave him a tip, but he declines. The crowds are milling when I get out of the car, and I'm past the point of being surprised when one of them points me out, and they start muttering and cheering. I give them a smile and wave before I board the train.
Once inside, my smile disappears, and I'm ready to relax. Effie will remain in the Capitol, coming back for only for Reaping Day. The train begins to move, and I head into the dining car, on my way back to my room. Haymitch is sitting at the table, nursing a bottle of spirits, glaring at a woman sitting across the table. I don't recognize her, but the white uniform she's wearing leaves no doubt who she is; a peacekeeper.
The woman turns to look at me, and I see the golden seal of Panem embroiled on her uniform. I've seen it before, only on Cray's uniform. "Ah. Mr. Hawthorne. Just who I wanted to see. Please, sit," she said, pointing to the seat across from her.
Taking the seat next to my mentor, I ask: "Who are you?"
"Cornelia Blackthorn," she answers.
She smiled at me, one I returned tentatively. "I've been sent by the President to see if I can affiliate an understanding. And to see if District 12 is in need of correction."
My smile turns into a frown, and I look at Haymitch out of the corner of my eye. He looks sour. "What do you mean, correction?" I ask. I did not like the look on Haymitch's face.
"Tiberius Cray is your Head Peacekeeper, is he not? We've received some discerning rumors about how he runs things in Twelve," she explained. "I'm here to see if District 12 needs something in force we call a correctional officer. When a district requires a firm hand, a qualified correctional officer is installed as the new Head Peacekeeper."
"Is that what you are? A correctional agent?" I ask, balling my fist underneath the table. If she was, I have a sinking subspecies I know why she's here.
"No. I'm here to evaluate District 12. I decide if you need correction, or if I can leave Cray to his position as head," she elaborated. "We haven't had any problems with Twelve for awhile. But after your meeting with the President, we were sure that would remain the case."
I can see Haymitch turned to look at me, but I close my eyes. I could almost smell the sickly sweet scent of the Presidents rose as he sat across from me. At the time I had been angry about the games, being forced to kill someone for the Capitol's amusement. The President was the most powerful man in the world, and it was with his blessing that the games continued. I had lost my cool when he mentioned Victor Duties and stormed out. He hadn't followed me, and two weeks later, the tour began. Despite his ominous warning, nothing had come of it. Nothing until now.
"What meeting?" Haymitch asked, his voice icy.
"I'm not very sure about the details myself, but the President explained to Gale what being a Victor means. The duty he bares to the country," Cornelia said. Snow had sat across from me, making sure I understood that when I turned sixteen, I would be required to do my duty. Anyone he told me to fuck, I was to fuck. I had left before he could make a real threat.
"Did he now?" Haymitch's voice somehow became colder.
"Yes. I thought we could take this opportunity to speak, Mr. Hawthorne. I've gone through many reports, both official and unofficial, from the peacekeepers in your district. Both you, your father, and a few other families have slipped the fence in the past when the power goes off. To pooch on Capitol land. That's a class B infraction, just for one time. For how many times you and your father have done it?"
Suddenly the familiar sensation of anger rises through me. This woman was threatening me, on Capitol orders. The smart thing to do would be to close my mouth and try not to dig my hole any deeper than it already was, but ever since I had gotten out of the arena, my temper had always been so close to the surface. "I'm a Victor? What are you doing to do?
Execute me?" I hiss, standing up.
Cornelia merely smiles. "What am I going to do with you? Nothing, Mr. Hawthorne. As a Victor, the law allows you certain freedoms no other citizens of the districts, even those working for the government enjoys. Oh no, short of trying to instigate violence, commuting murder, encouraging citizens to break the law or insurgency against the government, there is not much I can do. To you. Your father, on the other hand, is not a Victor. He has poached on Capitol owned land hundreds of times, in a low estimate. Your family has benefited from his illegal poaching. A few other families in your district do the same thing. I dare say none of them enjoy your protection as a Victor." Cornelia smiles at me.
My heart has started to beat faster. I know a threat when I hear one. Play along, or else.
"There is also the black market. What do you call it? The hub, right? Such a charming name. We have a record of many citizens using this facility. A grade-A infraction, just for willfully participating one time. It would be completely within my rights to execute everyone who's stepped foot in it. Your family, and all the other poachers as well. I can request a power extension from District 5 and have the fence on all day and night. A harsh crackdown would be in order. The governing officials might need replacing. We'll have to close down the mines for a few weeks, at least."
Which meant mass starvation across the district. If people couldn't work, they'd starve. Without the hub, even more, would. The merchants might be able to weather the storm, but the Seam might not survive.
"All of this is within my authority to do, of course. And I'm more than willing to see the law be carried out. Or..."
"Or?" I ask, taking the bait. Cornelia's smile widens.
"Or you can play your role as a Victor. Personally, if this was any other District, I would be proceeding with these measures regardless of you playing or not. I would find other incentives to make you follow the script you've been given. But District 12 is so far beneath the radar, that it hardly seems necessary. Someone more fanatic, like Commander Thread, for instance, would follow the law to the letter. Twelve is such a backwater place, I don't see the purpose. It's so small and insignificant to the greater working of the country, that as long as you make your coal quota, the rest can be overlooked. Unless you refuse to play your part, that is."
And there it was. Do what we say, or we'll crack down on your district so hard, hundreds will die. Maybe thousands. Including your family, who will have special targets on them. I have no doubts that she will go out of her way to make sure people in the district know that the crackdown is the fault of their newest Victor.
The President also said I had until I was sixteen before I had to start fulfilling my duties. Even in the Capitol, thirteen is too young, but sixteen is a fair game. I'd seen the girls in front of old Cray's house, whoring themselves so they and their families might survive. I never imagined I would be among their number, only I would be whored out in the Capitol. After you win games, you're supposed to have a life of luxury. A life without worry, where you're pampered for as long as you live. Nothing is ever mentioned about the duties. Another lie that the Capitol tells.
A bout of laughter fills me, though there's nothing funny about the situation I'm in. It's funny that I actually believed in the lie. Not about the Capitol being benevolent, but at least allow its victims the winnings were promised.
"Is something funny. Mr. Hawthorn?" Cornelia asks, her smile having already turned into a frown.
"No. Nothing," I say, whipping it off my face.
"Once I get to District 12, I will arrange for my extended stay. If I find you amicable, I see no reason to strip Cray of the position and install a correctional officer. I will be working out of his office in the Justice Building and staying as a guest in his house in the district. I will be focusing on rearranging the patrols and making sure District 12's peacekeepers are acting in a way that does not bring dishonor to the uniform they're wearing. But before any of that, I will be going to the mayor's office and phoning President Snow. He requested an update as soon as we get into Twelve. So, what shall I tell him?"
I look over at Haymitch, seeing an expression of cool anger on his face. He meets my eyes, taking a sip of the spirits.
"Tell the President that I'm... Sorry," I say, forcing the words out of my throat. "For the way, I behaved."
"Being a Victor cannot be an easy thing. Sometimes the pressure of the arena can be hard on the Victors. I'm sure the President will not hold it against you, but I should think that you learn to control your temper. I have other engagements that require my attention before we get to Twelve. Good day to you both," she said, standing up. I watched as her retreating back disappears from view.
Author's Note:
Hello! I hope you have enjoyed the second chapter of Mentor!
Before I go on, is anyone else excited about the new Hunger Games prequel book? I can't wait to read it! The news of it coming out is one of the reasons I've decided to write this! I bring this up because I've written out a whole history of the first rebellion, the Dark Days, and the history of Victors and Capitol people. Once that book comes out, it will probably render my history completely AU.
So I've been debating what to do about it. If I want to set up the world anymore, or wait for the book and see if I can work the new information into the history. So I've decided that I'm just going to go full butterfly-effect on this story. It was the butterfly-effect that lead Gale's to be reaped, and I think it can be used to explain major differences between my history and the canon that Collins is writing. When I finally get the book, I will work some of it into my history, but if it clashes too much, I might butterfly-effect it away, so to speak.
Pa tr eon dot com (slash) Syraxes