Chapter 2: Training and Interviews

The dining car is empty when Lucy Gray, Haymitch and Effie arrive inside. Though she doesn't want to – at her age, she's lost her taste for most things – Lucy Gray piles up her plate and begins to eat. She is going to need all her strength to get as far through the Games as she can so that Haymitch can get as far through the Games as he can… and hopefully, all the way to the end.

Like a hawk, she watches him longingly eyeing the train's liquor cabinet at the far end of the room. The old lady and their escort share a look. Lucy Gray knows and trusts that Effie will be just as invested in Haymitch's health as she is and not divulge the lock code. And Effie will not give in, no matter how noticeable the shakes are quaking through Haymitch's hands, attempting to butter a roll.

"I need a drink." Haymitch's tone is just a tick below a whine.

"Of course, dear. Would you like some passion guava?" Effie dutifully asks him.

Haymitch glares at her. "Not the kind of drink I meant."

Effie pours him a glass of passion guava anyway, bubbling about how it's from her favorite java juice place in the Capitol.

Steepling her gnarled fingers over the top of her cane, Lucy Gray leans back in her chair with a bizarre contentment. "Effie, dear, who is to be our mentor?"

"Hmm? Oh, um…" Effie lists about over a stack of papers, somewhat distracted and even a little flustered. "I do believe I received word about his commission this morning; he didn't leave his quarters the whole ride over to Twelve."

Haymitch lets out an insolent, childish little laugh. "Probably some damn Career."

"Coming from a Quell Victor, I'll take that as a compliment, Mr. Abernathy."

The assembled group turns at the sound of the voice. A man with age lines and flecks of grey in an otherwise chestnut beard stands on the threshold of the hydraulic door leading into this car. Smiling a million-watt grin that's all teeth, the gentleman strides forward, holding out his hand to shake. "I'm Ares Valerio… Victor of the 41st…."

Probably about 50, then, Lucy Gray surmises. He certainly wears his age better than many of his peers. Ares sinks into the chair at the head of the table, smiling gratefully as Effie hands him a stack of files.

"Now, in the interest of saving precious time, I don't think I need to read you your Tributes' Rights," Ares glances between his two charges. "Unless either of you are sticklers for the law."

Lucy Gray's smile twinkles. "Humor an old lady, young man." She nearly smirks at how Ares actually turns pink at the banter.

"You flatter me, Miss Baird…"

"Oh, shut up and get on with it!" Haymitch slurs from across the table. Were it not her knowing it's surliness and not booze lacing his voice, Lucy Gray would fear he's somehow relapsed into drunkenness already.

Ares diplomatically clears his throat. "You have the right to remain silent; anything you say can and will be used against you in an arena of glory. You have the right to a mentor; if your district does not have a mentor, one will be provided to you." He glances up, grin thin and almost boyish. "Any questions?"

"Yes. How did you get this gig?" Haymitch sneers.

Ares apparently either doesn't register or does not care about Haymitch's passive-aggressive tone. "It was assigned to me. My orders were to stand down at the Reaping in Two so as to prepare for deployment elsewhere. And I always follow orders."

"Well, hip hip hooray for you!" Haymitch applauds mockingly. "What a good little boy you are!" Seeing Ares's eyes finally narrow a little, Lucy Gray quickly interjects.

"Out of curiosity, Mr. Valerio…"

"Oh, please, call me Ares, ma'am."

Haymitch is doing something exaggerated with his lips – probably mimicking Ares, knowing him. Lucy Gray deigns to ignore it. "Ares… do you know who has been Reaped for your district?"

"I'm not at liberty to say, ma'am – don't worry, the Reaping recaps should be on in the next few minutes." Opening a manila file folder, Ares licks his finger and procures a sheet of paper off the top. "Now, budget constraints are such that a partner was not assigned with me to coach you, Miss Baird. The Capitol is sparing no expense for this Quell, so the tradition of mentoring by gender will have to be foregone for now. Although Miss Trinket here has graciously agreed to assist me where she can." He nods gratefully in her direction, leaning across the table and passing two white papers to each of the Victors. "Here is a waiver granting your permission for me to mentor you. This is always done when mentors are sent out on loan. Sign here."

"Whine? I don't whine, Mr. Valerio!" Lucy Gray sniffs.

"No, SIGN!" Ares corrects, speaking up.

"Yes, I am fluent in sign language, if you wish to commune that way," Lucy Gray allows. Sometimes, she resorts to it when she misplaces her hearing aid; she made Haymitch learn. All the same, she adjusts her hearing aid and is about to ask the young man to repeat himself when Effie passes her a pen. The old Victor puts her name to paper, signing the form. She smiles assuredly at Ares. "I'm a trifle deaf in this ear, dear; speak a little louder next time."

"Duly noted." Ares folds his arms on the table, accepting the signed forms as they're passed back to him. "Now, I spent much of the train ride to Twelve going over your files. There will be much intrigue on the part of the citizenry regarding how long ago each of you won, the space between your Victories – a record, if I may say…"

Lucy Gray watches as Haymitch slouches down in his seat. She can't really blame him. She's never liked to be reminded about how Twelve has set records in the Games for all the wrong reasons: quickest deaths, least number of Victories, and, as Ares just pointed out, the longest gap between Victories ever at forty years.

"Did you watch our Games?" Haymitch's sudden quibble makes Ares start.

"I'm sorry?" Ares smiles kindly.

"Did you watch our Games as part of your little reconnaissance on us?" Haymitch repeats. He's looking right at Lucy Gray as he says this, his gaze far too knowing, which causes her to stiffen. She could strangle him right now, if she could.

"I was given a copy of your Quell, Mr. Abernathy, for viewing – very gripping television, if I may say…"

"No, you may not say…" Haymitch jeers, annoyed.

"….but... now that I think on it, I don't believe a copy of your Games was included in your files, Miss Baird. The National Archives did not have one on record." Ares shrugs apologetically, as if this is some minor inconvenience.

No, I don't suppose they would have, Lucy Gray thinks to herself, all while shooting a cease-and-desist death glare at Haymitch.

"You should write a strongly-worded letter to the Librarian of Congress, Mr. Valerio!" Effie pipes up, affronted on his behalf. "It is your duty as a mentor to have every tool at your disposal…"

It is almost a relief when the Avox on duty informs Ares that the Reaping recaps are ready for viewing. Moving into the viewing car, the three Victors and Effie sit and watch silently as name after name of champions and celebrities are called to take the stage.

Cashmere and Gloss Delacroix, the classic brother and sister pair who won consecutive Games more than a decade ago, are called for District 1. The attack dog from just last year, Cato Uzi, is called for District 2, but replaced by a volunteer – Brutus Barsetti, who won just a couple years before Haymitch and apparently can't wait to get back into the arena. Enobaria Malachite, a peer of the Delacroix twins, is called as his district partner.

Haymitch was right about District 3: only a solitary man and woman are on the stage, like they were. Beetee Latier and Wiress Okimoto. But Lucy Gray starts to feel the real pain at District 4. Finnick Odair, the handsome pretty boy from a decade ago and youngest tribute ever crowned, is predictably called back in. Then the poor, mad girl from five years ago is Reaped, until she is replaced by a volunteer. Lucy Gray's eyes flash with anguish. Mags… The Victor immediately after her year, and also just a year younger. It should feel nice, to know she won't be the oldest Victor in this thing; instead, she just feels nauseous.

The Reapings come faster and faster after that. Drunk Matthias Fletcher and Circe Montoya. Two Morphlings – Maeve Collins and Mitt Compton – for Six. District 7 is memorable for its lonely girl accompanied by three aging men… and how aforementioned lonely girl cusses the cameraman out when her name is predictably called. Johanna Mason is fierce and fiery as she takes her place alongside Blight Gavin.

Lucy Gray has to turn away at District 8. Woof Barton is being sent in beyond his own volition, and he's Mags' age. That'll be three octogenarians making a run for the Cornucopia. Cecelia Rheys – triumphed about twenty years ago – has to extract herself from her three sobbing babies. Snow…. The inhumanity of it….. She must completely black out during the Reapings for 9 and 10, for she only refocuses when it is just Chaff Habarti and Seeder Crue on the stage for District 11. Then she herself is called, followed by Haymitch.

The group trudges off to bed after that, not talking to anybody.


The next morning before stepping off the train, Ares had encouraged Lucy Gray and Haymitch to take a more aloof tact when disembarking and making their way through the Opening Ceremonies. Lucy Gray internalizes the directive easily, staring straight ahead and emotionless as she plods forward with the assistance of her cane. Haymitch does her one better, face a hard mask and scowling at everyone in sight. The hostility emanating from him only makes the loping, stupid masses cheer for him more.

The District 12 Victors are separated from each other to be readied by their stylists. Lucy Gray is donned in some black ensemble that makes her look sixty years younger, and not in a good way. A teenager would be better suited in this outfit, not her. Why Cinna thinks sexualizing a grandma makes for good PR is beyond her. She tries to put it out of her mind by brushing the horse that will pull her chariot while waiting for Haymitch.

"Lucy Gray!" She turns blandly at the sound of her name.

"Hello, Finnick."

"You want a sugar cube? It's supposed to be for the horses, but they have forever to eat, whereas you and I… well, if we see something sweet, we'd better grab it."

"Indeed. Do be a dear and let me know when something sweet passes by."

Finnick claps a hand over his heart. "You wound me, Grandmother."

She just shakes her head at his naiveté. "You won't win any points with me by playing deference to your elders."

"And there's that bite to go with that get-up you clearly don't flaunt when out on your rocking chair. Why not go for something with more color, like say, rainbow?"

Lucy Gray fights to mask how her body stiffens, remembering the rainbow pattern of her scarf, the one Coryo dropped in that pen of snake mutts. "Rainbow's not my shade," she quips flatly.

Finnick appraises her up and down, hearing the coldness in her tone. "So it would seem." A slight pause. "You know, no one hardly ever sees you in the Capitol, but I bet you were a hellraiser in your time – jewels, money…"

"Well, I've never had a taste for jewels and I've had more money since before your granddaddy was an apple in his daddy's eye…. How'd you burn your fortune anyway, Finnick?"

"With secrets," Finnick's hiss catches her off-guard, and she turns to see him sidling up close to her. He smirks at her obvious discomfort. "What about you, Lucy Gray Baird? Any secrets you'd sing for me?"

"I don't sing," she counters him flatly. "… Not anymore." She tilts her head to study him, as if just realizing as an afterthought. "And does your mother know you're propositioning someone nearly four times your age?"

"Oh, I don't proposition, Miss Baird – I'm above that. Though I have been known to have the pleasure of company at any age." She bets Snow's ass he has, and it's barely discernible, but she can detect the disgust in Finnick's voice as he relays this. His attention is diverted to something past her shoulder. "Ol' Abernathy is coming. Real shame about this Quell thing. We could have been better acquainted." He pops the sugar cube into his mouth. "Have a good day."

"What did he want?" Haymitch arrives at her side before Finnick is even out of earshot.

"To know all my secrets."

"Well, only I know all of those, so he'll have to get in line." The District 12 Victors share a meaningful look, and by it, Lucy Gray knows Haymitch is apologizing, in his own way, for the display he made on the train yesterday. It's only as her former pupil is turning away that she mumbles under her breath, "Except you're not the only one…"

It's good that Haymitch doesn't hear her. He's now being distracted by a truly monstrous headdress Cinna and Portia are trying to jam on his head. Haymitch is too quick, grabbing for it and shaking it in his district partner's stylist's face.

"What the hell, Cinna? What is this shit?! I am NOT wearing this!"

"Now, Haymitch, be reasonable – it designates your justly exalted status…."

"Exalted status, my ass!..."

"If Cora Shutter were alive, she'd be wearing a headdress just like that…."

Craning her neck and ignoring the arthritic creak in her bones, Lucy Gray gets a better look at what has Haymitch so upset: emblazoned on the headdress are the words QUARTER QUELL VICTOR. She sighs. She should have foreseen with this Quell twist that Haymitch would be getting extra attention – attention he definitely does not want.

The trumpets sound, heralding the parade down the Avenue of Tributes. Cinna has to practically force Haymitch to don the headdress, then hands him a clicker. "Press this when you're ready." Haymitch grumpily helps Lucy Gray up into their chariot and before long, their team of horses is off.

Emerging into the evening sun and the wild cheers of the masses, Lucy Gray is comforted by Haymitch's fingers finding hers. And when his free hand presses the clicker, she is stupefied to see how she and Haymitch's costumes both alight with fire.

Approaching the City Circle, she lifts her head to see how the snake eyes of her erstwhile lover are staring straight down at her. She beholds him for only a moment, willing the years to melt away so that he becomes the boy she once knew, before turning away.

Coryo gives his speech and the Victors are then released into the Training Center. Johanna Mason shares an elevator ride up to their quarters on Floor 12 – the penthouse suite – studying Lucy Gray in a curious way that makes the older woman wonder if this young lady is actually afraid of her. She can't imagine how.


Over the next three days, Lucy Gray is at a loss for how she is supposed to train, and with what. When she and Coryo were navigating this rigamoral decades ago, training didn't exist as a concept. She only learned the ins and outs of it by doing as a mentor herself. She spends much of her time instead standing at the arts and crafts table, making small talk with Mags and Woof and watching Maeve and Mitt make a mess of most of the supplies. And also keeping a keen eye on Haymitch, who has taken up spear and javelin tossing with Chaff Habarti and Brutus Barsetti.

Between training sessions, Lucy Gray spends quality time in interview prep with Effie, while Ares presumably tries to wrangle Haymitch. Then it is the third and final day of training, followed by evaluations by the Gamemakers. One by one, the Victors made to compete again are called, until only Haymitch and Lucy Gray are left.

Silently studying Brutus's sheer muscle, Finnick's deadly charm, Blight Gavin's cunning, Lucy Gray has to wonder:

"How are we going to kill all these people, Haymitch?"

"I don't know. But who said anything about killing?"

She glowers at him. "I did. Because whether you like it or not, one of us is going to be Victor again and it isn't going to be me!" She stands up and storms out for her evaluation as best she can, powerwalking at her own speed.

Her anger is still simmering when that Heavensbee peacock asks her to demonstrate her chosen skill. Her anger at being made to compete again in a way that is actually alien to her, given that she is of a much different era. She can't fight. She got to be where she is because she was smart, but in an arena of killers who, as much as Finnick might like to pretend, as much as Ares didn't have the tape of her Games because of course he wouldn't, actually do know her, smart doesn't mean a damn thing. For how do you outsmart people who already would have studied or at least discerned all your signature moves?

But she still can show off what she can do in one way. And so, despite all her protestation to the contrary, Lucy Gray begins to sing:

"You can't take my sass, you can't take my talking. You can kiss my ass and just keep on walking. Nothing you can take from me was ever worth keeping. No, sir. Nothing you can take from me is worth dirt. Take it, cause I'd give it free; it won't hurt. Nothing you can take from me was ever worth keeping!"

When she's through, she marches out of there, brimming with rebellious power.

The Training Score returns that night are hyped as the entrée of the century before the main course: the interviews tomorrow night, and then the arena of champions. Cashmere and Gloss both net 10s. Brutus and Finnick tie for an 11. Enobaria manages a 9. Low to medium for the rest.

"And finally, we have the enchanting Lucy Gray Baird, the earliest serving tribute Reaped for these Games, folks, with a score of…. 12."

Ares whistles. Effie just stares at her. Lucy Gray purses her lips in a thin, bloodless line.

"Last but not least, Haymitch Abernathy, with…. another unprecedented score of 12."

Haymitch looks shocked. "Why would they do that?"

"So the others will target us," Lucy Gray states flatly, grimly. "Go to bed, pup."


The next night at the Interviews, Caesar is nearly delirious with excitement. Lucy Gray can't feel much sympathy for him when his anticipation is quickly popped like a leaky balloon with what transpires.

Cashmere cries like a poseur for three minutes about having to be eternally separated from… her fanbase. Her fanbase rather than her own brother, who is actually going into the arena with her, and who merely recalls all the kindness the Capitol has shown him and his sister. Beetee Latier questions the legality of the Quell. Finnick Odair reads a poem written for his own true love… and about a hundred people faint because they're sure he means them. There are some of the old throwbacks, like Brutus and Roan Tully from 10 and Nolan de Naro from 9, who are just here for another Games.

It only gets worse from there. A series of lessons in substance abuse are interspliced between these lackeys. Matthias Fletcher throws up the dinner he drank all over the first three rows. Maeve and Mitt are stoned high as kites. Woof Barton – the poor man! – wanders off the stage in the middle of his interview and just… doesn't come back. More crying from Cecelia Rheys until all the women in the audience are ugly crying. Johanna Mason cusses the audience out. Seeder Crue starts off her interview by saying the President is all-powerful. Well, if he's so powerful, why doesn't he just change the Quell? Chaff follows up by postulating that Snow could change the Quell if he really wanted to, but that he must figure it must not matter much to anyone.

By the time Lucy Gray is called, the studio audience is an absolute wreck. It's almost amusing how the appearance of the old lady from 12 practically causes a riot, even as Lucy Gray is still convinced few alive in this city remember who she is.

"Now, Lucy Gray, you've been a Victor for nearly two-thirds of a century – isn't that something, folks? You've had a long life and an illustrious career mentoring. Are you prepared, when you go into that arena, to die with dignity? Or will you fight?"

"Oh, now, Caesar, I am prepared to fight! We all have to fight."

"A gladiator's spirit! I love it!" Caesar crows. "Now, I have been told not to ask this, but I'm too tempted: won't you sing for us, Miss Baird?"

Lifting her head, Lucy Gray shifts her eyes to where she knows the presidential box to be. Though she can't see him in the shadows, she wants to make sure he hears this. Smiling, she bubbles, "I'd be delighted to, Caesar!" And she begins to lilt out a haunting melody:

"You're headed to heaven, the sweet old hereafter, and I've got one foot in the door. But before I can fly up, I've loose ends to tie up, right here in the old therebefore…. When nothing is left anymore…. When nothing is left anymore…"

She sings every verse, every note. And when she finishes, Capitolites burst into applause with tears in their eyes. The buzzer sounds, and she takes her seat as Haymitch bounds up to bring them all home.

"Well, I've always saved the best for last, and here he is: Haymitch Abernathy, the Victor of the 2nd Quarter Quell!" The screams of approval are deafening. "Now, Haymitch, you last stood on this stage twenty-five years ago. You came out, a champion for your district, against double the normal field. And now you are returning for a second chance at glory against experienced killers, including your own mentor. Tell me: do you have what it takes to defend your title?"

"I'll stand by what I said in our last interview, Caesar: I figure my odds will be roughly the same." The audience eats it up, and Haymitch's smirk flashes for all to see: cocky. Arrogant. Indifferent.

"Earlier tonight, we had some wondering how the President must be feeling, watching our beloved champions return to the arena. Of course, President Snow must be as cut up as the rest of us…"

"On the contrary, Caesar, I think he's quite happy," Haymitch interrupts.

Caesar blinks, letting out a nervous chuckle. "Really? And what makes you say that?"

"I think he's happy to see twenty-three people more loved than he is go to their deaths. After all, no one can receive more love than the President, right? Isn't that right, sir? Are you happy? Are you thrilled to be getting rid of me? No, not as much as you're thrilled to be getting rid of her. Because I'm sure you're wondering: has she ever told? Has she ever told anyone – do you think anyone knows – how you cheated? In the 10th Games? All those years ago? How you fixed a Games? Fixed a Victor? No, of course no one knows – you made sure to take out anyone who might. But here's the problem, Mr. President: I know. And you know. And so does she."

People are gasping and crying out as the buzzer sounds. Caesar is yelling to make himself heard and desperately making a slashing motion across his throat, begging that someone, anyone, cut the feed.

But nobody does. Not before all two dozen Victors join hands and hold them aloft. Only then does someone cut the feed and plunge the studio into darkness, but too late: all of Panem has seen.


Lucy Gray stands tall and defiant, watching with almost mild interest as the President of Panem circles the Resolute Desk, pacing back and forth before her.

"You never were able to control your Victor, were you, Lucy Gray?" he tsssks, shaking his head.

"Haymitch has nothing to do with this, Coryo….."

"He has everything to do with it!" Coryo spits. "I'll make sure his death isn't peaceful."

"Not if he gets to the Crown first."

"And who would help him? You?" Coryo steps in close to her.

"Of course not me!" she lies, pretending to scoff at the very notion.

Coryo actually chuckles. "Don't toy with me, my dear. We both know you have too bleeding a heart."

She cocks her head to appraise him. "Better to have a heart that bleeds than to have no heart at all."

A loaded beat. More loaded than a gun. Then the gun goes off as Snow surges forward, hands squeezing Lucy Gray's skull as he yanks her head forward and then his lips are on hers in a violent kiss.

She gives in. For just a moment, she kisses him back, but then, in disgust, she pushes him away. His snake eyes sparkle with lust, the thrill of the chase, even in their collective old age.

"By the State, I hate you!" he hisses, the flush to his skin belying his own words.

Lucy Gray simply regards him sadly. "You were my soulmate, Coryo…. I loved you!"

He's turned away, fingers steepled on the presidential desk. "True. I did love you once in return. Well, no more." He whips his head back towards hers, irises flashing with fire. "Get out of my sight!"

Lucy Gray walks to the door of his oval office with her head held high. She hangs back for just a second, taking him in one last time. "Goodbye…. Mr. President."

The door has barely clicked into place behind her before Coryo casts all of his papers off his desk in a fit of piqued rage. His screams of anger echo off the walls of the Oval Office.