Enjoy the last few chapters before the Games begin! Let me know with your reviews how you're liking the story! Stay safe and have fun.
Chapter 20- Terra Coppersmith
"So, what's the plan for today?" Fletcher asks, spreading jam on a scone. Everyone's here for breakfast, except for the stylists. I'm pretty sure they're off preparing for tomorrow's interviews.
"You're with me first," Postumius says, sipping orange juice. Good grief, even his juice is orange. Doesn't this man quit?
"And me?" I ask, taking a bun from the center of the table. An attendant comes behind me and fills my glass with orange juice as well. "Thank you," I say, and he scurries away. I wonder what they do to the attendants to make them so frightened.
"You're with me to decide your angle," Shuttle says. I nod, taking a bite out of my bun.
"We are going to have so much fun today," Fletcher says, winking at me. He's got to stop doing that; it makes my stomach drop every time.
My dreams were confusing and hectic last night. There were bows and arrows and targets, and the announcer, Caius, saying my score was a 7, which is a really good score for someone who hadn't shot a bow before I came to the Capitol. And Fletcher; Fletcher was everywhere.
I can't like him, not where we're going. And I can't like him because Deecey liked him first. One half of me says stop it, forget about him, he's going to die, but the other half says, you're probably going to die in the next few days. Go ahead, Terra.
With my thoughts so jumbled, it's a miracle I slept at all. I need to keep my focus on what matters; keeping alive so I can go home to Iry. Fletcher can't be part of it.
Then why does my stomach keep dropping and my heart keep quickening when he looks at me?
"Alright, finish up," Shuttle says, wiping her mouth with her napkin. "We have a busy day today, and four hours to work on your angle, so we need to get working."
Cramming the last bit of bun in my mouth, I push away from the table. "Let's go," I say, making Shuttle raise her eyebrows.
"With manners like that, you'll never get sponsors."
I shrug and say through a mouthful of bun, "I'll take my chances."
A few minutes later, she and I are sitting in my room, her on the bed, me on the ottoman. "So, what's the angle you're coming up with for me?" I ask, looking up at her.
"You're strong, resilient. Got a sister at home you want to go home to, am I right?"
"Yes."
"We'll keep your unexpected talent with a bow secret until you get into the arena, so we won't play that angle up."
Shuttle looks at me, turning her head side to side, examining me up and down. "I think we'll play you as determined. You can do that, can't you? You're determined already."
"Tell me what to say and I'll say it," I say, twisting my fingers around each other. Determined. I can play that. I am, after all.
"Go out and tell them about how you promised your sister to come home, how you've found new strengths here in the Capitol- don't tell them what they are, of course- and don't be seen as weak. Play strong, fierce even."
"Tell me how, and I'll do it."
"I think you're already there," Shuttle says, smiling.
Four hours later I'm leaving my room, having learned all I need to. I'll be determined, stubborn, brave onstage. No weakness from me. Easy to play, so I'm happy with my angle. It's a double-edged sword, though. If I'm seen as tough then the sponsors will look at me with interest, but so will my competition. If I played it weak, the other tributes, especially the Careers, would ignore me, at least at first, but so would the sponsors. Shuttle's balanced it all out to give me the best chance of survival.
If I go in fighting, it'll settle Iry and Deecey's minds, anyway. I don't want to seem like I've given up before the Games have even begun.
Fletcher comes out of the living room rolling his eyes. "After lunch he's all yours. Good luck," he says.
"Terra!" Postumius calls in a sing song voice. I roll my eyes. Four hours with him? I don't know how I'm going to survive. I'd almost rather go into the Games early than look at that stupid orange suit for four hours. Is it the same one as the one he wore to the reapings? No, this one has more embroidery and buttons on it. It still looks stupid.
"So, what are you going to teach me?" I say warily, sitting down in the living room across from Postumius. He's grinning maniacally, legs crossed. His pant legs are about four inches too short, and I have no idea why. Does Capitol fashion really encourage that? I'm also fairly sure, by looking at my escort's face, that he has had at least one drink so far today. I feel sorry for Fletcher, I really do, as Postumius' first victim.
"Well, after lunch I'm going to teach you how to walk and talk and be manner perfect for the cameras!" Postumius says, literally bouncing up and down. Four hours? Why?
Woven comes in then, just in time before I go crazy looking at that orange suit. "Come on in for lunch."
Postumius bounds up and walks off a little wobbly stepped for the dining room. I hold back with Woven, watching him go.
"Four hours? Really?" I mutter, and Woven gives a half laugh.
"I wouldn't put you through it but it's the rules. What an idiot," she says, and we both laugh then.
"I'd rather face the other tributes in the arena," I say.
"That will be arranged soon enough. Come on, you'll need to eat to keep up your strength for this afternoon."
I follow Woven into the dining room and sit down beside Shuttle. Postumius is already asking for a glass of wine.
"No more for you," Shuttle says, waving the servant away.
"Why can't I have wine?" Postumius pouts.
"Because I want you focused on Terra this afternoon and not being a total idiot. You can go ahead and drink tonight."
"Fine," he mutters and picks up his glass of water. For once he's not smiling.
Lunch is a subdued matter, but I enjoy the food anyway. Especially this stew they have today; it's delicious. My eyes keep flicking over to Fletcher, and I see several times that he's looking at me as well. I look away, off to a painting of fruit on the wall. My heart keeps dropping in my chest.
Too soon Postumius stands up and says, "Let's go, Terra!" Inwardly I groan, but I follow him to the other room.
Behind me I can hear Woven saying, "You're with me now, boy," to Fletcher.
The next four hours are excruciating. Postumius, a man with no fashion sense and usually abominable manners, strives to teach me how to walk, sit, and talk, despite him not knowing how to do any of those without bouncing.
"Smile, Terra! We all want to see your smile!"
"I'm supposed to be determined; do I smile for that?"
"Always smile! It makes you look so much prettier!"
Fine, I'll smile. I still hate him.
He makes me wear a long skirt and high, high heels, and walk around the living room in them. Heels are difficult for me, and I keep toppling over and having to grab onto the arms of the chairs.
"Do they have to be so high?" I ask, the third time I fall over.
"You never know what your stylist will put you into!" Postumius says brightly.
Then, once I've walked twice around the living room without falling, he sits me down and makes me repeat back banal phrases, all with a bright smile.
If he was in the arena with me, I would have no problem killing this idiot.
At last the four hours are up, and I'm exhausted, more mentally than physically. "You'll do just fine!" Postumius says, jumping up. "Now where's that wine…" Off he wanders off in search of a Capitol attendant.
Fletcher comes out of his room followed by Woven. "I see you survived," he says with a small grin. "Where's orangey?"
"Off for a drink. Good riddance," I say, jerking my head to the dining room.
"I really ought to talk to someone about getting him replaced," Woven says. "He's a dreadful escort."
"Oh, don't," I say. "He's the best part of the reapings."
"True that," Fletcher says. "I'm hoping he picks another color next year, though. The orange is rather blinding."
"You two can go off and do what you like until supper," Woven says, getting distracted. "I've got to go monitor that fool." She walks off towards the dining room, leaving Fletcher and me alone.
"So?" Fletcher says, looking at me.
"So what?"
"What do you want to do?"
I shrug. "No idea."
"We could go talk somewhere; it would be nice to have some decent conversation for once."
I cross my arms. "Is it a good idea to be friends, where we're going?"
"I don't see how I can hate you in the arena. Come on, it'll be fun, and we won't have many more conversations with anyone in two days."
"Are we allies then?" I ask. I wasn't planning on having allies in the arena. It was just supposed to be me. But Fletcher is complicating things again!
"If you want to be. I'm not planning on killing you," he says, and he says it so cheerfully and easily that I want to agree to be allies, to talk to him before we're both dead.
"Alright, let's go talk. Why not?" I say, and he smiles, lighting up his eyes.
"We can go to my room; it's got a good view," he says, starting towards the hallway.
"They all have good views, Fletcher," I say, and he laughs.
"Come on, then!"
However hard I try, the odds of me going home are so slim. So I forget Deecey, forget my sister, for the time being, and I follow Fletcher to his room.