District 12
I wake up the morning after the Reading of the Card with the biggest, throbbing headache I've ever had in my life.
Groaning, I roll out of bed and pad down to the kitchen. The light pierces the grey of our mansion in the early morning, but not by much, as I watch Mother busy over a kettle of tea. Prim is seated silently at the table, lips pursed but staying silent.
Both she and Mother seem to be tiptoeing around me, and I accept the hot cup of tea when Mother offers it with the smile befitting a cracked, porcelain doll. It isn't long before the cracking catches up with the rest of me, and barely setting the saucer down so that it rattles instead of breaks, I collapse into heaving sobs.
Soon, Mother and Prim have their arms around me, and they are crying too, their faces buried in my hair. We hold onto each other, kneeling on the floor, rocking each other as we try to come to terms with the waking nightmare in which we all now find ourselves. The fact that the twist this year means Primrose gets a free pass at the Reaping is only the barest comfort.
A sudden knock at the door makes us all sniffle more quietly. "Who…. Who is it?" I blubber. My voice cracks, the question too soft for the person on the other side to have heard me.
"I'll get it," Mother murmurs gently. She presses a kiss to my hair and rises to answer the door. From all the way in the sitting room, I can only see their profiles, but a flash of golden hair and I know it is Peeta. He and Haymitch are on the front porch, bundled up, heads bowed. Both of them carry hats in their hands.
"Good morning, Mrs. Everdeen. Is Katniss here?"
"Oh….. Peeta…." Mother states, stalling for time. She steals a glance over to me and I shake my head vigorously, mouthing 'No!' Thankfully, neither of my fellow Victors can see me from their sightline.
Mother raises an eyebrow, but she gets the message. "Um…. Katniss is feeling a little under the weather at the moment…."
"…. Well, then, all the more reason that a walk will do her some good," I hear Haymitch rumbling. "We're well aware of the emotional turmoil she's going through, Belle; we're struggling too. The Boy and I just thought she could use a friend."
Mother glances back to me again. She'll send them away if I insist, but I disentangle myself from Prim's arms and stand, stepping into the foyer. Haymitch's lips upturn into that halfway point between a genuine smile and a cocksure smirk.
"Morning, Sweetheart." It's the most tender Haymitch usually gets, and I have to be grateful for it.
Peeta is gazing at me with debilitating love and concern. "Are you all right, Katniss?"
So, he doesn't know about my drinking with Haymitch all night. If I tell him, I don't know if he'll be angry with me. Peeta's not the judgemental type, and I love him for that, but in high-stress times like these…. all our reactions could be off and out-of-character if we don't try and keep our heads. I smile weakly; it's unconvincing.
"I'm fine. Thank you." I even lean forward and kiss him softly for his concern; he holds it for a moment, smiling wanly when we break apart.
"Off we go! Much obliged, Belle." Haymitch replaces his wool cap on his head, tipping it to my mother as the three of us descend the porch and stride out of Victors' Village.
We go slowly, giving the Sunday stroll the air of a funeral march. The overcast clouds don't help the somber atmosphere, and I desperately wish we'd pick up the pace. But Haymitch takes his own sweet time in leading us across the district, through the Seam and over Town until we reach the school play-yard.
Peeta and I haven't been back here in months, not since last term let out a few weeks before the Winter Festival. There are four stone statues now on display in the courtyard; the pair of newer ones, depicting Peeta and me with weapons raised even as we stare at each other longingly, were commissioned and unveiled last fall.
Our little trio gathers in the shadow of the first statue, already showing signs of lichen and other nature reclaiming it: the likeness depicts a young woman in a sundress, holding a rattler on high. Her gaze is fierce, the image captured reminiscent of something you might hear in a tall tale. Lucy Gray Baird. The Victor of the 10th Hunger Games, missing and presumed dead for decades. Not even Haymitch knew her. I wonder what she would think about this Quell twist. If she were here, I'd at least have the comfort of knowing that my re-enlistment in the Games wasn't a guarantee.
Haymitch and Peeta are huddled close together. I can see how they're eyeing me nervously, but don't comment on it.
"What do we do, Haymitch?" Peeta asks.
"Nothing to be done," Haymitch shrugs. "These were always Snow's Games, we play by his rules."
"Except we didn't." My soft mumble makes them both snap back to me. "Last year, we didn't play by the rules."
"Yes, you did," Haymitch reassures me. "It's not either of your faults that they just happened to change the damn rules right in the middle of the game. When you get to that point, it isn't a game at all; it becomes more of a…. a…." He's searching for the word to describe the Capitol's dick move, but can't seem to find it.
"So why else is this happening, if not for what we did?" Peeta pipes up.
"That's the thing, isn't it?" Haymitch states grimly. "There is no other reason this is happening. The fix is in; no one can tell me this was the twist written into stone 75 years ago. The timing is just a little too convenient. Snow has always been about playing 5-dimensional chess. Moves and countermoves. And he can make them forwards, backwards and longways. Except now, you and Sweetheart here have him trapped. You've trapped his Queen."
I cock an eyebrow, skeptical, but let Haymitch continue with his chess metaphor.
"When a Queen is trapped, a chess player without a level head starts to play wild. Throw out desperate moves. With this Quell, Snow is throwing out all his best pieces, trying to rescue his Queen. Our best countermove now is to try and claim checkmate anyway. And as long as we don't get rattled but Snow stays rattled and keeps making wild moves….. we're going to make that checkmate, be damned." He stares intensely at both Peeta and I. "Be… damned."
Peeta smiles with something resembling hope. "I'll start looking into training recommendations. We'll begin tomorrow."
