Into The Fire
Disclaimer: I don't own the Hunger Games. All recognisable characters, content or locations belong to their respective owners. No copyright infringement intended.
Chapter Two:
Over dinner, Katniss and Haymitch took turns explaining what Prim and Peeta would be doing as mentors. Effie would be there to guide them, and both of them would take to it like ducks to water, but as Katniss battled her fatigue, and as Haymitch battled his alcoholism, Katniss acknowledged that Effie could only do so much. Both Primrose and Peeta were social butterflies, however, and they'd take to the social machinations and such things with the same grace and dignity that Katniss herself would always struggle with.
"Just charm the pants off them," Haymitch said sardonically, with a bitter undertone that only Katniss truly understood. "They'll be putty in your hands."
"Yes," Katniss agreed, "It should be fairly easy, too. The Capital can't get enough of District 12's 'Star-Crossed Lovers.'"
"You can also play the Everdeen angle," Haymitch contributed, "The Capital loves their 'Girls on Fire.'"
Katniss grunted. She'd acquired the 'Girl on Fire' moniker after the opening ceremony of her original games. It was a particularly genius brainchild from Cinna, and it was one he'd adopted for Primrose, too. Collectively, they'd come to be known as the 'Girls on Fire', and Katniss despised it. That was nothing new, though. Over the years, she'd come to despise almost everything about the Capital, and the Hunger Games particularly, and she doubted that would ever change.
"You'll already have a fair bit of sponsorship money," Katniss informed them, "I'm not sure of the exact amount, but a quarter of the money I made from the music thing was set aside for District 12's tributes."
The 'music thing' was something Katniss had been blackmailed into by President Snow. She'd apparently been too valuable a commodity to whore out to the highest bidder, and instead, she'd been stuck performing and recording music for the Capital's multicoloured socialites. It was better than the alternative, she knew, but Katniss hadn't enjoyed music since the death of her father, and it was thus a special kind of torture all on it's own.
"That's comforting, I guess," Primrose answered, "At least if we flop, we'll have funds to fall back on."
"That's one way to look at it," Haymitch quipped, swirled his juice around in his glass, and sighed gruffly. "Better go watch the reapings, sweetheart."
Katniss agreed, led the way towards the theatre room, and settled herself on the available leather couch. Effie switched on the television and settled in an armchair, Haymitch propped himself against the wall, and in silence, the group watched, and waited.
"Cashmere and Gloss," Katniss observed. They had volunteered for their original games, the 66th and 68th, respectively, and like a number of their fellow victors, they'd been whored out to the Capital's wealthiest. They were from District 1, they were both dangerous in their own ways, but their fanaticism for the Capital had waned a long time ago.
"Brutus and Enobaria," Haymitch added, "No surprise, I guess, the psychopaths."
Katniss grimaced her agreement. Brutus, who'd won the 57th Hunger Games, and Enobaria, who'd won the 60th, relished the Hunger Games, the abject brutality, the thrill, the senseless murder. It was deplorable, really, and in the years since Katniss had been introduced to them, she'd made a concerted effort to avoid the pair as much as possible. Most of the other victors did the same, and Katniss doubted she was the only one who dreaded entering an arena with them in it.
District 3 saw Beetee and Wiress reaped. Johanna Mason, of District 7, had dubbed them 'Nuts and Bolts', and although they were both frighteningly, brilliantly smart, it was very apparent that neither of them were prepared for another Hunger Games arena.
In saying that, the Hunger Games was really something no one could ever truly prepare for. A tribute could train their entire lives for the arena, but once inside, when faced with the threat of death at every turn, the mental, emotional, and psychological strain would eventually take it's toll.
It was a wonder more victors didn't go mad.
"District 4," Katniss murmured. She trailed her fingers along her abdomen, closed her eyes, and hoped with everything she had that he wouldn't be reaped.
She was disappointed, then, when Mags volunteered in Annie Cresta's stead, and when Finnick was reaped shortly thereafter. Annie was slightly crazy - or rather, she'd detached her mind from such a hellish reality years ago - and Mags, bless her soul, had opted to spare the girl the torment of yet another Hunger Games.
And then there was Finnick. She could write a book about him, and still have a million more things to say.
Finnick Odair, aged 24, District 4 career tribute, victor of the 65th Hunger Games. Capital Escort, a brother, a son, a friend. Her solace, the person who helped her get out of bed every morning, her world.
The tears tracked down her cheeks, and Katniss retreated inwards, lost herself in the memory of another time, another place, untouched by the Capital, and so very, very beautiful. She'd spent a perfect weekend with Finnick, feasting on fish and katniss tubers and plump red strawberries, and all had been well.
It hadn't lasted, of course, because eventually, they'd had to return to the public eye, to District 12 and District 4 and Panem. While it had, though, it had been a dream.
Ahead of her the other reapings past in a blur. District 5's loners, Watson and Electa, District 6's morphling addicts, Bonnie and Tom. Johanna and Blight were reaped from District 7, Woof and Cecilia from District 8. District 9 reaped Christie and Jackson, while District 10 saw Tanner and Paris reaped. Finally, Chaff and Cedar from District 11 joined the ranks of victor tributes, and Katniss retreated to her usual bedroom, already exhausted.
It hadn't even begun yet - not really.