Song Suggestion: Lorde—"Everybody Wants to Rule the World"

Thank You: cd291104, 3vlee, These Lonely Skies, pheonlynx, Rachel, Guest, Guest, Guest, Guest, Lily Meowmeow, Guest, HeyBirdy, Obscure-Reference-Girl, miz, HalleyJoe, Lucy Greenhill, Lou, Brendabites, Sandraanataliaa, californiadancer, Gracie, and EsmeraldaTriste!

You guys went above and beyond for the last chapter. My moments of discouragement are done. Honestly, I wouldn't have quit writing even if nobody responded; it's in my blood. However, it does make me write faster, better, and clearer. And for that, I love you like my 1-year-old loves chasing ducks. Which is a lot.

A/N: Someone did make a comment about length. About how they are impatient. My answer: sorry, but I will not change my pace. Most books either focus on either A: character or B: plot. I like both, which is why I tend to write long. However, I do promise that things will get extremely exciting soon. Like cliff hangers so steep, you'll get vertigo.

A Calculated Affair

Dancing and socializing came next. Prim tried to meld into the chair as best as possible, being good at neither of those things. At this point, more of the crowd, mostly men, arrived. They wore smart suits, untainted by capitol colors. In the back of her mind, she recognized them. She had seen their serious eyes and calculating expressions all her life in the background, in corners, in shadows. In an instant, they can determine whether a child would have enough fortitude to snap a neck without remorse.

Gamemakers.

The second group was unrecognizable. Men with dyed purple skins carried women on their arms with large towering hair pieces, the latest trend in fashion. One even had a birdcage sewn into her hair with live birds. Prim couldn't help but wonder how she managed to sleep. And what about the poop! The logistics bothered her. With each successive person, the outfits got more outlandish until the last man came in. He had cut and transformed his whole body to look more like a goldfish, gills fluttering and all.

Rich, ridiculous, and from the Capitol:

Sponsors.

And suddenly Prim understood the function of Tea Time. It wasn't to get to know other women in the district. No, it was to gain winners. Win favor for the future tributes. Everything was calculated. After this revelation, she viewed the scenes before her differently, seeing things she hadn't before. A woman slipped a piece of jewelry into another person's hand. A district two woman and a Gamemaker slipped quietly through the doors, his arm on her back. Men stood against men with notebooks open, scribbling annotations, patting each other on the backs. Networking at its finest. Prim never imagined so much went into securing sponsors and ensuring District 2 stayed a powerhouse among the districts.

"That's Ivanka Green. She is the chosen tribute for this year's games," Katla sat next to her and whispered into her ears. She pointed to a tall girl in the corner. Blond hair shot straight down her back to her thighs, but that was all she saw from her vantage point. Prim wondered how she could exercise with such long hair. Didn't it get in the way?

"She doesn't look like much." Not like the Clove had been. Prim still had nightmares with knives pressed against Katniss' cheek, threatening to cut her slowly.

"Oh, don't let her stupid hair fool you into thinking she's even remotely like a girl. Trust me, I've known her since primary. Firsthand experience with her blood lust. Every inch of her six foot frame is made to kill. The bitch once told me she dreamed she cut a girl's head off and drained the blood in her glass to drink. Then proceeded to eat her brains. Crazy, right?" She shook her head, "I guess I should feel lucky the two of us would never face each other in the arena. I feel sorry for any poor idiot that does, including Cato's tribute."

Cato's tribute... that reminded her. They said that Brick had been the tribute. But what happened to Nero? Who would take their place? Prim glanced around but no clues were offered.

Prim watched as Ivanka smiled sweetly at a Gamemaker and shook his hand, her hair wiggling as if an extra appendage.

Thirty Minutes Later

An old man asked her to dance. Hairs sprouted from a bulbous, red nose. Prim wasn't sure what to do. Katla, the usual person who warded people off, was in the bathroom. And no one else was at the table. In the end, Prim didn't want to seem rude. What was the etiquette for rejection anyway? Mrs. Manniola would know.

"I... I guess."

The man smiled large to show yellowed teeth. He wasn't a Gamemaker, for sure. President Snow wouldn't allow flaws in appearance for the people in charge of the show. Imperfection was weakness. And he wasn't a sponsor either, his outfit too tame for the occasion. He wore a regular black suit, but with a green outline.

She held out a hand, and he took it. Up close, he smelled like formaldehyde, a corpse in a morgue. He tugged her much too close. She tried to put some proper distance between them, but his grip strengthened around her waist, despite his age.

"You're a pretty thing."

They didn't talk after that, but the whole time his hand inched closer to her bottom, and his foul breath wafted against her face. By the time his decrepit fingers reached the end of her spine, she almost said something. But, in the end, she didn't have to, for someone else did.

"I'd be careful with that hand, unless you'd like Carthage to take it off."

"He's not here."

"Yeah, but I am, and I'd be more than willing to do the deed myself."

The hand left her spine, and they stopped dancing, much to Prim's relief. Prim backpedaled away from him as soon as he let her go.

She turned to find Lorcan Gabatha.

"Hello, Primrose."

His green eyes twinkled and he crossed his impressive muscled arms across his chest, looking a little more grown than the last time she saw him. Prim chalked it up to a suit. She was used to seeing him in a training uniform.

He was the only one who called her Primrose. His formality sparked by his fear of Cato. He took his duty seriously, going to training every day, despite only being required to go four days out of the week. Besides Cato and Gale, he was the most determined individual she had ever met.

"Hello, Lorcan." She reached out to give him a hug. He flinched, uncomfortable with the show of affection, and tugged back.

"You should use my last name."

"Says who."

"Says your fiancée. He'd kill me if he thought we were familiar."

"Of course we're familiar. We trained together for weeks. I don't know how anybody could do that without becoming friends."

Gabatha smiled at that, and then he turned sharply to the old guy, who was standing around messing with his tie and vest, as if unsure what to do.

"What are you waiting for, Benji?" he made a shooing motion, "She doesn't like you or want to dance with you, so it's time to get on now." He turned back to Prim when the guy frowned and finally sulked away. "You really shouldn't have accepted his invitation to dance. He's nothing but a lecherous old fool."

"Well, everyone else was dancing, and nobody else asked."

Gabatha looked handsome in a three button suit with a bow tie. He did nothing to try and fit in with the Capitol, as if proud of the district he came from. It really wasn't a shrewd move to make.

"That's because everyone is smart enough not to," he held out a hand for her to take, "And on that note, would you like to dance?"

Prim took it. It was times like these that Prim understood that her relationship with Cato was slightly toxic. At the moment, she felt light, probably because she was so relieved, as if she could float right up into space. Sometimes Cato's intensity weighed her down. Not that she thought of Gabatha in romantic terms. And she was almost sure Gabatha mirrored her feelings. He took his time at the training room too serious to mess it up with an attempt at a dalliance with Cato Carthage's fiancé. He also seemed rather fond of his head attached to his body.

"I'm the tribute," he said halfway through the song.

Prim gasped and stopped dancing, pulling back to stare into his eyes.

"What do you mean?"

"Don't play stupid. You know what I mean. With Brick, well, incapacitated, that left a spot open. I tried out and I won, fair and square."

"But I thought Nero—"

"Nero tore a ligament a long time ago, leaving the district without either an heir or a spare."

"But you're so young." He looked like he was playing dress up in his suit. A little boy pretending at grown up activities.

The comment made him frown. The freckles on his nose and cheeks became more pronounced, and his red hair seemed to brighten with his anger.

"I'm sixteen," he bristled, "Older than most that are sent. I thought you'd be happy for me."

She had thought him fourteen or fifteen. His face was round and smooth, like a baby's.

"You don't have to volunteer."

"I want to volunteer."

That threw her for a moment. She forgot how his district brainwashed potential tributes from an early age. She shook her head. He moved to start dancing again, holding her at a safe distance away. They swayed together back and forth.

"Why would you want to?" She asked after a bit. It was a question that she had struggled with her whole life. Why would a person want to cause another person pain and heartache? Where was the motivation?

"Glory. Fame." He shrugged his shoulders, "Take your pick. It's not very deep or complicated like you imagine."

That was it? Her sister's death, Rue's death, Peeta's. The baker grieved for years, his knuckle kneading dough and shaping it in memory of a son who was so strong he could throw weights across the training room, yet wouldn't raise a hand to save his life. It made her angry, but she couldn't be mad at Lorcan as much as she tried.

He didn't know. He didn't understand yet what it cost. Just a little boy playing toy soldiers, not realizing that blood was darker in real life. He didn't understand the light leaving someone's eyes, pressing through hard cartilage and bone to get to the heart.

Prim looked up.

"Don't give me that look. I'll survive."

Did he not know she also worried that he would survive? She worried for his soul.

Prim held back her sob, catching it in her throat.

"I don't like the thought of you going into the games, but if you must, remember what I taught you. About the arteries and the ointments and the—" She couldn't continue. He was the first person since her sister that she had gotten to know that would be in death's shadow.

"I just—" He started, but then he stopped as if unsure how to word what he wanted to say.

Another minute later, Prim prodded him to go ahead and say it.

"What's bothering you?"

"I just—" he said again, "I think I could kill anyone."

The statement made her shiver. Of course, he could. He was trained to. Prim heard rumors that as an early part of their training they had to go and select a puppy, bring it home, care for it, until they loved it, and then slit its throat, ensuring lack of empathy. They had to do this over and over until they didn't cry. Prim wasn't sure if she believed it, but she wouldn't put it past the district. How else were monsters like Jace created?

"Well," she finally managed to say, trying to hide her disgust, "If you volunteer for the games, it will be a valuable sentiment to have."

This time Lorcan stopped dancing and dropped her hand as if it burned him.

"You don't get it."

Prim was tired of people telling her that. The only reason she didn't "get it" was because people never explained anything to her.

"Get what?" She stomped her foot and clenched her fists. She may tiptoe around Cato's mysterious secrets, but she wouldn't tolerate it from someone who pretended to be him.

"You're 18 too."

"And what is that supposed to mean?"

"It means that I can kill anyone," he said, "Except you."

"Wha—"

"You're the only person who's ever been nice to me in my life."

His forehead wrinkled as if holding back intense emotion, but nothing else on his face changed. He twisted and walked away before she could respond, leaving her alone on the dance floor in the midst between twirling couples.

Five Minutes Later

On the way back to her seat, a man stopped her, his hand shooting out and grasping her arm. He wore a dark navy suit with a stripped orange tie. His black beard spiked to a sharp point under his chin. He towered over her, and he had the most neutral face she had ever seen. Dark brown eyes stared at her from a long face, neither handsome nor ugly. It was a face that could blend with the walls.

From his manner, with his hands clasped behind his back, with his chin raised in the air, unafraid of anything, she knew him to be a Gamemaker.

Danger rippled across her. She felt it whispering against her neck.

Unsure what to do, she made a curtsey, stumbling a little on the way up. She wished he could get on with whatever he wanted because the silence was becoming uncomfortable.

"It's a lovely evening isn't it, sir?" She asked.

He didn't answer, and she somehow found the courage to lift her chin and look him in the eye. Black pits stared back at her, so dark she was unsure what his emotions were. It took her a moment before she recognized that he wasn't looking at her, but at her necklace, the one that Katla just gave her. They narrowed into something resembling suspicion. His hand came out like a lightning strike, tugging at the necklace until the clasp in the back bit at her neck.

"Where did you get this?"

"It was given to me by a friend."

"A friend," he repeated in an absent manner. Then he came back to his senses, eyes flicking back to hers. The power in it reminded her of Snow, how it stripped her of being. Without words, he showed the power he had over her life. With just a word, he could end it. "You're Katniss Everdeen's sister, aren't you?"

Hearing that made her clam up. She had forgotten how much hearing her name on another person's lips hurt, especially when he made it sound as if she was still alive. Over the past several months, she had come to be known as Cato Cathage's fiancé. The weight of living in the Girl on Fire's shadow had lifted, allowing her to become more herself, not quite, but close.

"Yes," she straightened, "I am."

"Yes," he said, still eyeing her in that critical way, "I can see that. Let us hope, though, that you do not share the same defiant spirit. It is better to obey than be broken." His fingers tucked the necklace under the front of her dress, "I don't care where you acquired this, but you should keep it hidden or destroy it. You wouldn't want the wrong eyes to see. It could send the wrong… message."

That was all he said, and for the second time in the night, Prim was left with an open mouth, standing in the middle of a crowd. Never in her life had she felt so confused or so alone.

She hadn't even caught his name.