Peeta
Slowly, we make to leave the stage room to take some time for ourselves. These testimonials were necessary, but I know that all of us are feeling raw and exposed. We have lost so much to Snow, and in order to survive we all have had to find ways to box up that loss; we're all used to pushing our emotions aside to make sure we make it through just one more day. Laying it bare for each other, let alone the world, is so far outside our respective comfort zones I'm frankly in shock we were all able to get through it without anyone lashing out or attacking Plutarch with some sort of a shiv.
It tends to be hit or miss with victors.
Finn and Annie head off to go lose themselves in each other. Annie has finally left the infirmary, immediately moving into Finn's compartment. For the first time I'm actually thankful I was assigned Haymitch as a roommate so as to avoid stumbling across the two of them in some sort of compromising state.
Jo and Enobaria run away, and I hear the word "sparring" tossed betwixt them.
Beetee moves to bury himself in his work, retreating to Special Weaponry.
Haymitch disappears without a word.
Katniss is staring down at her hands, and I know she's at risk of sliding back into the overwhelming guilt and fear she fights against all the time. She isn't the cause of anything that has happened since our Games, but the consequences of her role as the Mockingjay weigh heavily on her soul. She feels a responsibility for what has been done with her name as the battle cry, and she fears being accountable for what is to come.
"C'mon," I murmur, and bend down to pick up her slight frame. I carry her away from this room that just bore witness to our trauma, a soundless prayer on my lips that I'll be enough to help her fight her demons, at least for today.
When we return to her hospital room, she doesn't say anything, but curls up on her side and reaches out for me to join her. I crawl in behind her, pressing my body up against hers. She has always been so much smaller than me, but with the torture she suffered at the hands of those monsters in the Capitol, she's become even more slight and I often feel like some sort of beast next to her.
Her torture.
Katniss's descriptions of what she went through during those months she was out of my reach, while I was sitting here in 13 posing for the cameras and playing at being a figurehead for the war…. Odds, it guts me. The people Katniss loves the most were used against her, our voices combined with physical pain to make everything hurt her more; and then, she was kept weak enough that she could never fully heal. I would give anything to have traded places with her; not that Katniss couldn't withstand the torture Snow put her through, but she shouldn't have had to.
Would it have made a difference if the Capitol had taken me? Would they have tortured me with Katniss's voice? My brothers'? My father's? Would the war be over by now if the rebels had Katniss in 13 instead of me?
"Stop," she says suddenly, quietly, interrupting my thoughts that are quickly carrying me far away from here.
"Hmmm?" The noise I make is an obvious question.
"I know I've never been thought of as someone who thinks too much," she whispers, with a lightly teasing tone to her words. "But I'm fairly certain you're thinking enough for the two of us right now."
I bark out a laugh. I thank the Odds every day that I get to see this side of Katniss – she's always been funny, but she tends to hide this quality behind all of her sharp edges. Her thorns are disguising the soft rose underneath that I'm allowed to hold in my hands.
I'm quite sure this particular rose would shoot me with an arrow if she ever heard the sappy thoughts running through my head.
"You're not wrong," I answer. "I'm just…pained, to hear what you went through. I wish I could have been there to keep you safe."
"They would have hurt you as well, if you were there with me," she argues.
"I know, I know. I'd rather that though. And besides, I can still wish it."
We're quiet for a long while, long enough that I think she may have fallen asleep. But then she asks, "Do you think the rebels will stop following us? Now that they know the truth – that the 'Star-Crossed Lovers' started off as a farce?"
"Part of me worries that they will," I admit. I take a moment to lightly kiss the back of her head. "But I'm hoping the overwhelming nature of everyone's stories will give them something else to focus on. Besides, I think you made it pretty clear that we're really in love now," I tease her, pulling her closer against my chest.
She chuckles and brings her arms up to lay across my own. "I just…I want them to know we're not acting now. You mean so much to me. I guess I want them to know that while it may not have all been true all the time, it was real. It is real."
I can hear her starting to get frustrated with herself. While she doesn't usually mind how abrasive she can be, she tends to become self-conscious whenever she struggles to articulate her feelings. She spent so long building up her walls after her father died, that it's hard for her to tear them down and be vulnerable with others.
"It's alright Katniss," I reassure her. "I understand."
"I know you do," she whispers. "I just wish I could speak more easily so you wouldn't have to just understand. I think it's just so much – what I feel…I know…. If I loved you less, I might be able to talk about it more."
And then…. Odds, then I go and fall in love with Katniss Everdeen all over again.
"Son of a bitch!"
I hear the snarling yelp unfurl down the hallway of the infirmary as soon as I turn the corner.
Ah, my beloved.
Katniss started physical therapy with Prim and her other doctors just after the interview with Cressida and Plutarch. She mumbled something about it just being time, but I could tell that she was still smarting over having to be wheeled and carried around half the district. Now for one hour every morning and evening Katniss treks the hallway outside her room, leaning on Prim's shoulders, my arms, or the back of a chair if neither of us are available. Today must be one of those days, because these times tend to feature her most colorful language and her shortest temper.
Once I catch sight of her, my suspicions are confirmed. Katniss is standing in the middle of her hallway, her arms are braced on her chair, her head dropped down between her shoulders. Her hair is finally starting to get some shine back to it, catching the light and highlighting the inky shimmer as it falls around her face while she lets out loud panting exhalations. Her doctor is standing diagonally in front of her, just out of Katniss's reach. I don't particularly blame her – the doctors always try to disguise their hesitance towards dealing with the victors' instability, especially now that they're all conscious, but the wariness remains.
"You can do it, Katniss!" the soft-spoken doctor attempts to encourage her. "Remember, keep the bend in your knees and try to avoid putting too much weight on your arms."
Katniss groans, loudly and dramatically, her volume rising at the end. "I am fucking doing those fucking things! Odds be damned, I swear I will cut your toes off and stuff them down your –"
"Hey sweetheart," I croon soothingly, cutting off her imaginative threats. I move closer to her, waving off the young doctor who shoots me a grimace laced with thanks before scurrying off to parts unknown.
"Fuck you too, Peeta Mellark," Katniss moans, still refusing to lift her head.
I can't hold back my laughter as I approach her and run my hand up and down her back pacifyingly. As much as Katniss tends to intimidate others, I find this part of her personality rather endearing. Her moods round her out, giving me insight into the parts of her personality she tends to keep hidden from the world. She's human, she's real – and I love her like a madman.
"I'd prefer to wait until you're better before we take that step in our relationship," I tease.
At this remark she snaps her head up and narrows her eyes at me. I track a blush that's moving up her neck and tinting her face a bright pink.
"You walked into that one, and you know it," I smirk, leaning in and placing a kiss on her sweaty temple.
"Peeta, it hurts!" she whines, tilting her head up to face me, as though appealing to me to somehow fix it. As unreasonable as she's being, I'm still overwhelmed with the desire to do as she asks and rescue her.
But she doesn't need me to do that; she needs me to be her partner, her ally.
"You can do this, Katniss," I press her. I repeat the doctor's words, but quiet my tone to something more intimate, one I know she's more likely to respond to. I run my hand down her back one final time and tell her, "C'mon," punctuating my last word with a firm tap to her behind.
She snorts out a laugh and stands back up to her full height, shaking out her arms. There's my stubborn girl. "Not one more word from you until I get back to my room, or I'll shoot you myself," she warns.
"Yes dear," I reply, my grin threatening to overtake my whole face.
She pushes off her chair and motions for me to stand on the other side of it. She gestures for me to start walking backwards with the chair, and I realize what's got her so worked up today – she's walking on her own.
Oh, my girl.
True to my word, I press my lips together to keep from saying anything to her until we get to the doorway of her room. I push the chair off to the side and reach my arms out for her. She raises her eyebrow at me, and I urge her forward with a tilt of my head.
"I'll catch you," I tell her.
She smiles. It's small, but it brightens my heart and causes my breath to catch in my chest.
We make it to the side of her bed, and I can't hold back another second. I scoop her up by her armpits and set her down on her bed before taking her face between my hands and surging towards her. I capture her mouth with mine and catch her startled whimper on my tongue as I run it across hers. I taste her fatigue and determination on her breathy huffs, and her amusement and joy with the curve of her lips.
"I'm proud of you," I whisper, my lips dragging roughly across hers with every word.
"I shouldn't have snapped at Dr. Norman," she mutters, pulling her face back just enough that I can see the furrow form between her brows.
"She'll get over it," I assure her, and she scrunches her face in doubt.
And then I rush forward and resume kissing the breath out of her until she believes me.
A few days later, Haymitch gives us a warning that the victor testimonials will be aired that evening, and they will be required viewing. Beetee gave him a heads up, he tells us, and I think he wants to give us the opportunity to avoid an audience if we so choose.
When I ask Haymitch if he'll be at dinner in the cafeteria, he scoffs and replies, "I'd rather go through detox again than have everyone watch me while I talk about my business. You two can do what you like."
I ask Katniss what she would like to do, as her steady recovery has made it an option for her to take her dinner with the rest of the district. We've never gone, but I don't want to make the decision for her.
"I want to wait and see what the others would like to do," she answers. I don't blame her – strength in numbers has always been a successful strategy for the two of us.
Haymitch must have spoken with them, because they all meander into our room – it's become mine as much as Katniss's since she woke up – as dinner time approaches. Conversation is easy now between our messy band of victors, but eventually it trails off into tense silence. We all know what's coming, and it's starting to feel like a sword is hanging precariously over all our heads.
I inform them of Haymitch's choice, and ask, "Do we want to watch the broadcast here? Katniss and I will go along with the group's decision."
It will be too much scrutiny to bear for just one or two of us to view the broadcast publicly, but she and I would be willing to take the chance on the public's response if we knew that the others would be with us.
I look to Finnick, because I believe the perception of his character will be the most altered by the information he divulged during his interview. While we have all suffered loss, and Katniss and I have lied, Finn is the one who has been the most considerably objectified. What will people think of him? Will they whisper about him? Look down on him? My heart aches to think about the awful possibilities.
His eyes are only for Annie though, and her soft smile and reassuring nod seem to be all he needs to say, "I could do with a change in scenery."
We make our way slowly to the District 13 cafeteria; we move at such a deliberately sluggish pace it feels almost like a slog through the thick humidity of the Quell arena. I'm sure we're all leaning on the excuse that Katniss is now encouraged to walk everywhere rather than relying on a wheelchair to get from place to place, but the truth is that none of us are in a hurry to get to where we're going.
Moving anywhere these days with Katniss is a slow process and it bothers her to no end, but I simply tell her that I'm happy to spend the extra time with her. This always results in an impressively dour eye-roll from my love. So, we walk slowly, with many pauses to allow her to catch her breath along the way.
By the time we reach the cafeteria, dinner is in full-swing. I spot a table in the back corner that has enough room for the six of us, and Finn offers to get our meals so I can take Katniss to sit down. She doesn't lift her eyes from the floor and leans much of her weight on my arm as I lead her over to our seats. I refuse to meet any of the curious stares that follow us across the room, but I know we're being openly studied by many onlookers. Katniss hasn't been out of the infirmary since Coin made her parade through the district on her way to Command, and I have been largely absent from public view since Katniss was rescued.
I haven't missed this feeling of being watched – I doubt any of us have.
I help her into her seat and drop down in the one next to her. She looks up quickly, and seeing how many people are gawking in our direction, she immediately drops her eyes back to the table.
"They're all looking," she mutters.
"Ignore them," I encourage. "This is nothing compared to the Games interviews. Remember how many people you charmed then?"
She quirks a smile and replies, "I'm pretty sure I had you and Cinna to help me with the actual charming."
I touch my finger to chin, raising her face up to meet my gaze. "You're wrong, but I'm still here, and we'll be alright. Together?"
She takes one big breath and on her exhale, she nods and agrees, "Together."
The others join us soon after, and Katniss begins to relax a bit. I take a moment to look away from her to observe who else is in the cafeteria tonight. Delly Cartwright is a few tables away, chatting with a group made up of young people from multiple districts. Gale is three tables away from her, and I catch him watching us every time he looks up from his food.
These people will see our insides scraped bare for the world to judge in just a few moments.
When the alarm sounds, Katniss jumps and grips my arm. I reassure her that its nothing, and the large screens light up.
Showtime.
This propaganda is not highly edited - no extra graphics, no words or symbols covered in flames. It is just as it was – the eight of us sitting together, answering questions, and telling the world about how President Coriolanus Snow destroyed our lives. The din of the dinnertime crowd gets quieter with each new revelation, each tragedy described in detail. When I begin to speak on screen, I can see the image of Katniss getting tense up on screen, just as she is now beside me. I reach over and put my arm around her, drawing her closer to me as my voice tells our story in the background. This is the moment when we will know whether the people of Panem will embrace us despite the lies we've told, or if they will reject us because of them. There are whispers and looks cast at us over shoulders, but no outcry. Katniss's conviction that our love is real seems to keep them tame for now.
When Plutarch begins to read the intake report from the hospital, it feels as though all the air has been sucked out of the room. The details of the victors' imprisonment have been kept secret from the people in 13, up until now they only knew that a rescue mission was successful. To hear the sheer volume of harm that was inflicted on these four women, for such an extended period of time must be overwhelming to them – I know it was for me.
As Katniss describes her torture, I hear a sob come from the direction of where Delly was sitting - it could very well be her. She knew Katniss at school, and Delly always had a kind heart. I look up and Gale is staring at Katniss; she doesn't see him; she's staring at her food tray and dragging her fork through her mushy vegetables. He flinches when she describes the whipping. Then his eyes flick over to me, and when I offer him a small half-smile, he looks away. I wish he didn't hate me, and I wish for her sake he didn't feel the need to hide from Katniss. I can't blame him – I too have felt the sting of her rejection, and it is the most acutely painful ache I can imagine. She is a shining light, an enigmatic force, and to not have her is one of the worst feelings I have ever experienced. I hope that one day he can forgive Katniss for choosing to love me; after everything, she deserves all the happiness she can get.
The interviews conclude, and it seems Cressida and Plutarch have cut together footage from each of our reapings. Each piece of film is labelled with the Games' number, with our names just below it. Haymitch and Beetee are unrecognizable, young teenagers who are mere shadows of the men they grew up to be. Enobaria is fierce and strong, bounding up to the stage. Finnick is a child, strong but small, and visibly spooked at only fourteen. Annie is a wispy beauty, catching the eye of her mentor even then. Jo is small, crying silently as she's led up to the stage.
While our reaping was only two years ago, I'm astounded at how young Katniss and I look in the footage in front of us. Knowing Katniss now, I can see the fear in her eyes as she volunteers for Prim. Prim screams her sister's name up on the screen as Gale picks her up and carries her into the crowd. My name is called, and I can actually watch my heart break as I realize I will never see my home again, because I will never choose my own life over Katniss's.
I know why Cressida chose to do this; we were all children once. Before we were victors, we were just kids from different districts, plucked from obscurity and forced to fight for the right to live our lives. We are everyone, we could be anyone.
When the screens go dark, there is silence. It is heavy, full of the things that cannot be said – things like I'm sorry and How could they? won't make any difference at this point. Thankfully, these people seem to understand that those words will never be enough. So, they don't use words.
As we're getting up to toss our dinner trays, every single person in the underground cafeteria of District 13 presses the three middle fingers of their left hands to their lips and lift them in our direction. They salute us – the damaged victors fighting the Capitol while licking our wounds, hoping that we can one day live in a world that lets us know peace.
I feel emotion clogging my throat and look down at Katniss who is tucked into my side. She is openly crying, and she brings her hand to her mouth as if to hold back the sobs that are threatening to escape. Finnick stands ramrod straight and lifts his hand to return the salute; the rest of us follow him. We are with these people; we are comrades, brethren in this fight against those who wish to oppress us. In this moment, our pain is known and felt by others. For the first time, that may be alright.
I lean over and press a kiss to Katniss's hair, and we turn to leave, no longer fearful of what we will face tonight.
I'm stretched out on Katniss's hospital bed, working on a sketch of the beach of the salt lake from the Quell while Prim is helping Katniss bathe, when Boggs comes to retrieve me.
"You're wanted in Command," he summons flatly.
I put my sketchbook aside and bring myself to my feet. "Is something wrong?" I ask.
He shakes his head and answers, "President Coin would like to speak with you," and before I can press him for details he shakes his head, adding quietly, "I don't know what about."
I implore him to give me a moment, and softly knock on the door to the adjoining room. Prim sticks her head out, careful to block the gap between the door and the wall to keep Katniss out of sight. I explain what is happening, and she assures me that she'll pass along the message to her sister. As she has begun to recover physically, Katniss has become incredibly anxious whenever separated from me. While I don't have much cause to complain about this increased attachment, I can't help worrying for her when I'm called away.
Boggs and I arrive at Command, where we are met by a very grim President Coin, while Plutarch is sporting his politician's smile, which usually means he wants something from me. Neither one of them stands to greet me.
"Soldier Mellark." Coin welcomes me without inflection or warmth.
I hurriedly nod my own unenthusiastic greeting and take a seat at the large table across from the two of them. Boggs sits down to my right. For a few awkward moments, nothing more is said between us. I'm guessing whatever it is Plutarch wants is significant enough that he has to work up to asking for it, and I rapidly have to tamp down the lunch that's threatening to make a reappearance due to sheer dread.
"Peeta," Plutarch finally begins. "We are so incredibly pleased with the progress Katniss has made in her recovery…." He trails off.
"You and me both," I say in rejoinder. "And it seems like her interview has had the desired effect, yes?" Best to aggressively counter whatever he's planning as quickly as possible. Katniss already did as they wanted, she needs to be left alone now.
"Yes! The response from the districts has been truly stellar!" he gushes.
"But…?" I prompt. I have no doubt that Plutarch will sit here all afternoon and small-talk me to death if I don't move this conversation forward.
"While Katniss's interview has had an impressive impact, we still need the victors to step up and take on more public roles in the Rebellion," Coin interjects, never one to mince words. She's tapping her fingers on the table as she speaks, and I'm temped to reach over and break one of them.
"Katniss isn't healed yet, physically or emotionally. She isn't up for that," I protest. They can't do this – not to her. We did as they asked and put ourselves out there for the sake of the war; but this wouldn't be the first time a president has gone back on their word when it comes to dealing with victors.
"She isn't, but you are," she replies, her words as sharp as ice.
Ah, I see. I feel my mouth settle in a grim line. While Katniss was always the one they wanted as the face of this revolution, once they saw what was left of her after her time in the Capitol, they swiftly pivoted away from focusing on her and placed the role firmly on my shoulders.
Plutarch clears his throat and tries again. "Peeta…we need to press forward. Both on the ground and on the airwaves. Katniss has always been the Mockingjay, and while we want her to be a part of it, we need to have a figurehead for the troops to rally around. The people love Katniss, but it's you who inspires them. We need you to participate on a higher level than you have been, and if you can, you need to bring Katniss on board as well."
"She's not better," I argue firmly. I can feel something click in my jaw from how tightly I'm clenching it. I know in the end I'll be stepping back into my Guardian role; I don't appreciate being forced into it by Coin, but I know I've been shirking my duties in order to help Katniss's recovery. Odds, I don't want to leave her, but I know without a shadow of a doubt that it's coming. Coin's going to cash in on our bargain for the victors' rescue, and I'll have to walk away to fight in a war just as I'm getting everything I have ever wanted. I know I can't have both – fighting the Capitol with Katniss by my side; she's nowhere near healthy enough and in truth, I have been willing to protect her with my life since the day my name was called at the reaping. There isn't a choice, really; I'll end up doing whatever Coin wants, as long as she doesn't touch Katniss.
"Get her better. Soon, soldier." Coin's tone allows no room for disobedience.
But before I can start throwing out ways to negotiate for more time for Katniss, Finn, Jo, and Enobaria charge into Command with all the subtlety of a mine collapse.
Plutarch smiles indulgently and doesn't even bother to hide his pleasure at seeing the other victors. While he is an integral part of the Rebellion, Plutarch Heavensbee is a Capitolite down to his bones; no matter what he learns about the depravity of a victor's life, he can't seem to let go of his inherent love for them. I can practically feel Coin's urge to roll her eyes at his starstruck reaction.
"How may we help you?" she grits out through her teeth.
"Rumor had it you were meeting with victors," Finn drawls, dropping gracefully down to drape himself in one of the chairs across from 13's president. "Thought we should join."
"Wonderful!" Plutarch exclaims, clapping his hands together. "Sit, sit!" He motions for Jo and Enobaria to claim seats as well. I swear one of Coin's eyes starts to twitch.
Enobaria shares a smirk with me as she sits. It seems someone thought it necessary to pass along where I was headed to the others. I'll have to find a gift for Primrose for starting this "rumor".
"We were just discussing the next steps we need to take with Peeta," he explains, his tone gossipy and excited. You'd think the man was planning brunch instead of a war. "We need to look at our plans for propos, and the presence of the victors on the battlefield. Peeta will be returning to his Guardian responsibilities, and we're hoping that Katniss will be recovered soon enough to be of use on both fronts."
The silence around the table is heavy with understanding. Victors know how this game is played – words always have more meaning than they appear. They know I'm not returning to this war by choice, and it's not a big leap to guess Katniss's health is my strongest motivator. Plutarch's desire for her presence alongside me is just the icing on the cake at this point.
Obviously, Johanna is the one to break through the bullshit. "Are you thick?" she scoffs loudly.
"We need to look at the situation objectively Johanna," Plutarch soothes.
"Yeah, and objectively this is horse shit!" she counters. "Katniss is still too injured to do anything these days other than learn to fucking walk again, Plutarch! Get it out of your big dumb Capitol head that she's going to be ready for the battlefield anytime soon, you moron."
"Johanna –" he tries to protest.
"Odds, just leave the poor girl alone! What do you want from us?" she cuts him off, her voice dripping with derision. "Let Peeta and Katniss alone! You don't need them – this war is bigger than them –"
"Actually it's not, Johanna," he interrupts her loudly. "Katniss Everdeen kicked off this revolution, and now it's time to see it through. If she cannot step up, Panem needs Peeta Mellark to take her place."
"What do you want from us?" Finn steps into the conversation, his tone thoughtful. His eyes are firmly on the table in front of him, and his body language is screaming that he wants to be anywhere but here; I am ever-thankful to count him as a friend. He doesn't need to be here, he doesn't want to give anymore of himself to these people, but he will; he won't leave Katniss and I alone in this.
Plutarch rubs the frustration from his eyes and lets out a loud put-upon sigh. For the first time, he looks completely exhausted. "We need something to celebrate. With the most recent propo, the people of Panem have gotten to know the pain you all have suffered. Now we want to show that the victors have not been defeated – that you can still be joyful." He pauses for a few moments before turning his stare straight to me. "How are you and Katniss doing, Peeta?"
I'm confused by this pivot in our discussion. "We're fine…" I allow. I'm not clear what he's getting at.
"I'm told the two of you are no longer feigning your relationship for the camera…. Would you say it's serious?" he inquires, tracing some pattern on the table with one thick finger.
"Um…I guess?" I shoot a glance at the other victors to see if they understand where this line of questioning is going, because I sure don't.
"Wonderful!" he exclaims, but his fervor seems feigned. "If that's the case, how do you think she would feel about a wedding?"
One.
Two.
Three beats of complete silence fill the room like a noxious fog.
"I'm sorry. I must be losing my mind, because I swear you just suggested Katniss and I get married for a propaganda. The same way the Snow did," I bite out.
Plutarch lifts his hands in an attempt to mollify me. "It's just an idea, Peeta."
"Absolutely not!" I snap, slamming my hand down on the table. The tenuous threads that have been holding back my temper are long gone now. "I refuse to take part in that circus again! Are you mad, Plutarch? Honestly? I would never ask Katniss to do that again. Never! Figure out another plan!"
"I'll do it," Finn cuts in, eyes trained determinedly on his fingers that are now tapping out a rhythmless tune on the arm of his chair.
"I'm sorry?" I sputter, my voice full to the brim with levity and confusion. "No offense man, but I doubt Katniss will marry you either."
Finn sniggers and clarifies, "I've asked Annie to marry me, just this morning. I was simply going to get a couple of witnesses – namely you three fools, and Katniss, Haymitch, and Beetee – but she deserves the wedding of her dreams. Or at least, as close to it as possible. I expect Plutarch could put together a pretty swanky affair."
Plutarch is absolutely giddy at the prospect of planning a real party and agrees to the hasty modifications to his plan instantly.
I reach over and grip Finn's shoulder tightly, giving him a wide smile. He and Annie deserve every possible moment of happiness for the rest of their lives. He returns my smile with a grin of his own.
Coin clears her throat in impatience and Plutarch looks down at his notes, now seeming almost reluctant to direct the conversation to the next subject. "We're having trouble taking District 2. We believe the Mockingjay and the Guardian would be of great assistance in furthering this endeavor. If we cannot have both, I'm confident that Peeta will do what is needed on his own. We need to take the district's main military base; it's located under a large mountain, and we've been launching assaults for weeks with no advancement. The hope is that we can either take it or destroy it so the Capitol cannot."
"Hundreds of people work in that mountain; you're talking about a huge loss of life," Enobaria interjects. This is her home district, her people we're talking about. I admit, it was difficult to move past the preconceptions I held in regard to Career victors, but it would be impossible not to see how much Plutarch's announcement has affected her. She's worried about what's coming, and I don't rightly blame her.
"It's not the preferred outcome," is all Coin says in response to her, and hurriedly looks down at her battle plans and notebooks.
"I want to go!" Enobaria bursts out. "It's my district, I can help! I'll rally the troops – they'll listen to me sooner than they'll listen to a victor from another district. I need to go, President Coin." Her words are pleading, but Enobaria's tone is resolute. She is going, it does not matter if Coin approves it.
Coin looks to Plutarch, who is contemplating the logistics of her request. He smirks, obviously excited at the prospect of getting more victors on camera and out on the frontlines. But Coin has the final say, and after a few weighted moments that appear to be mostly for show, she is the one to answer. "Very well, Miss Brass," she agrees. A smile slowly takes over her face, and while the expression should evoke comfort or delight, it only fills me with a cold alarm. It is the smile of a predator who has locked on to her prey. "You'll leave for District 2 the day after Soldier Odair's wedding. Soldiers Mellark and Hawthorne will join you."
Suddenly Snow doesn't seem too scary anymore – Katniss is going to kill me herself.
A/N: The line "If I loved you less, I might be able to talk about it more," is from Emma, by Jane Austen.
Thank you to everyone who has taken the time to read, review, favorite, and follow One Need Not be a Chamber to be Haunted. It means so much to me to see that people are enjoying it!
