Interlude: Friends in Arms

-Jupiter Tamboli, 19- Victor of the 26th Hunger Games-

"Sure you're not worried about getting alcohol on it?" Nick teased, causing me to sigh.

"I don't go anywhere without Pooka. He's my lucky cat." I take another sip of my virgin pina colada. "Also, I'm not drinking alcohol. You think I'd want to be drunk the first time I meet Dutch Krietzer?!"

My mentoring partner snorted at that. "Sometimes I forget he's such a big deal to you young guys." Nick was still pretty young, not even thirty years old yet, and won exactly ten years before me.

Honestly, I was glad he was my mentoring partner for my first year at the job. Of all of District 2's Victors, he was probably the best choice.

Talon Davenport, Victor of the Eighth Games, was nice enough and also enjoyed cats, but he was often drunk off his ass, not to mention his constant innuendoes and his insurmountable sex drive.

Lina Pastore, the 19th Victor, wasn't all too bad. She just wasn't all that nice. Nick says she thought that she could just become a hermit after winning the Games and not be bothered by anyone, but was pretty shocked when she couldn't escape the spotlight. She hated the paparazzi, and I was sure that she'd be a tornado in the Capitol, where everyone loved her. I just didn't need that extra stress.

Priam Wyn, Victor of the 24th Games, was just plain savage. I knew he would have sabotaged me, fed me all of the wrong advice and laughed as my tribute crashed and burnt all because of me. And probably made misogynistic comments out the wazoo. No, definitely. Definitely made misogynistic comments out the wazoo.

Overall, Nick was the best choice. It helped that his best friend Dutch was mentoring for District One the same year.

So far, I was lukewarm to being a mentor. The planning, strategies, it all just felt like I was going into the Games all over again, just without the risk of dying.

I was a thrill-seeker that wanted to do good. I wanted the money and fame. I wanted action, I wanted to be the Victor of the most memorable Games ever! Then I was thrown into a frozen hell of an Arena. It was huge, and my allies and the other tributes just fell one by one because they didn't know how to survive like I did. It was one of the most boring and forgettable Games on television.

There's a correct way to do a cold Arena, a pretty winter wonderland small enough that the Careers could pick off the outer District tributes with only one or two dying of the cold. It was an O'Callaghan Arena, it was beautiful and deadly, and the snow was painted crimson one tribute at a time until Marlowe Glaiser won.

Then Floyd fucking Monotone takes over, and I get stuck in the most depressing, expansive winter wasteland with incompetent allies and the most anticlimactic excuse for a "finale" ever. I was still mad about that, he cheated me of a whole new level of fame and glory. I didn't even have one visible scar from the whole thing!

What a dud Games. I wanted to be more than the dud Victor! I will forever hate him and hoped to God this Voleur girl was better than him.

No matter though. After all, today I'd get to meet some of the very people that inspired me! The mentors for the stronger, trained tributes were meeting today at my place to discuss the prospective volunteers.

I didn't visit the Academy very frequently, it just reminded me too much of who I used to be. It took everything in me and almost three months to convince my cousin Hiran that volunteering wasn't worth it. He was far too sweet for the Games anyways.

However, I tried to go more often once I realized I'd have to know the tributes that volunteered. After all, we upper District mentors had an advantage that the lower Districts didn't: we got to know our tributes before the ceremonies began. It would have been horribly dumb of me not to take advantage of that.

Latika was very powerful and intelligent, as well as curt. She kept to herself usually, and was extremely no-nonsense. A very promising tribute, but not the type I would get along very well with. Then there was Jack, who was an absolute powerhouse that had no restraint. If someone messed with him, he had no mercy. Nick practically begged me to take him, which worked out perfectly. Nick was rational, and would help the curt (party pooper) girl shine, and I would do everything I could to rally the Capitol behind the firecracker. After all, I knew it would be easier to tame a wild horse than kick a dead one.

Dutch and his father Platinum were District One's mentors that year, and arrived first. They were friendly with Nick, and I felt overwhelmingly starstruck. Right there, standing in my doorway, was the first second generation Victor and, I don't know, Platinum fucking Krietzer! I couldn't believe it was really happening. I'd looked up to all three of the Victors since I could first hold a sword in my tiny, chubby, baby hands.

The District Four mentors also decided to drop by, claiming they had worthy tributes that would be volunteering. Reyna Noct, victor of the 23rd Games, came swaggering in with more confidence than I had ever seen out of her. She claimed the boy that volunteered, Orpheus, was going to blow us away. I'm not sure I believed her though. The kid had some serious sight issues. I didn't know the extent but… I couldn't underestimate anyone. Salvador Castillion, who won the 17th Games one year after Nick, seemed confident in the girl as well. Valencia, her name was. This would be one of those years when all six of our tributes planned to join the big alliance that outer District tributes have started calling "Careers."

Platinum talked a bit about his tributes. He and Dutch had seen the girl, Cadenza, hard at work training in District 1's largest Academy and spoke highly of her skills and talents. Although, they did mention that District 1 had not yet chosen a male tribute.

Here in the good District, there's only one Academy that really matters. Some other hopefuls that live in more remote areas near the mountains train in their basements, or set up informal "Dojos" with academy dropouts and graduates alike mentoring. It was a good way for those ex-students to make some money, but their students were usually no match for those tributes that trained in the Nate McIalwain Academy For Future Tributes, which was huge and ultra-competitive. District 1 has started building smaller Academies around the areas in some of the poorer parts of the District, and tried to give them equal opportunity to shine, which only extended the process of selection. From what it seemed, Cadenza was a no-brainer, but there were still hopefuls vying for that male spot. The mentors seemed more than confident that District 1 had Victor material, though.

Nick was pretty honest about Latika. There really wasn't much to lie about. Just like her personality, she was a pretty straightforward tribute. However, I wasn't going to give away too much about my firecracker so quickly. I said the simple stuff: he's eighteen years old, determined, and assertive, and left out the things I knew he would want to be a surprise. Ultimately, everyone in this room wanted their tribute to win, and I knew that anything I said now could be used against him later. Nick gave me an approving side-glance just as my phone started to ring.

"Excuse me," I said to the others, disappearing to pick up the phone. "Hello?"

"Jupey! Oh thank goodness, I need you right now, man," Conrad Horowitz, Head Interviewer, wheezed, trying to get her breath back.

"Hey, uh, since when was I Jupey?" I really didn't need that stupid nickname sticking. "And what do you want from me?" I couldn't help but be curious about what business Capitolites had with a young Victor like me.

"I need your help. I know we share a mutual enemy and it would be dangerous for me to get anyone else to help with this job." Conrad sounded dead serious.

My interest was peaked and my eyebrows raised at the response. "Go on."

"I need you to meet me at this address ASAP. There isn't much time," he whispered hurriedly, "299 Valehaven Street. Top floor." And with that she hung up, not even giving me a chance to agree or not.

Shit. I thought. I would have to make up an alibi. I went back out to where the other Victors were making small-talk, waiting for me to return.

"Hey guys. So, I've had a change of plans. It's an urgent…." My eyes scoured the room looking for an excuse. "...Cat emergency."

"A what?" Nick didn't buy it for a minute.

"I just have to go!" I said, knowing I would miss the train if I played this game any longer. I left the other Victors in my house and headed to the platform, trying to look as casual as possible. I got on quickly and thanked the Peacekeepers that let me hop on last second. This was important business. The train didn't take long to arrive at the Capitol and let me off, and then I walked to the address Conrad had given me. I was familiar with the apartment complex because I had been there before, with a client on the second floor. Middle-aged woman, pruny skin and stringy hair, not a fun time. Were auctions ever fun though? No. Pooka hated them because he always had to stay home so he wouldn't be subject to the mature content of my evening.

Anyways, top floor. I tried to avoid the stares of the people and headed up the stairs to the top floor as quickly as I could. The moment I stepped through the door I was face to face with Arrietty Voleur and she did not look even remotely happy.

"Jupiter. I need to confirm something with you before we begin." She pushed her glasses up her nose and stared me down. Which was really weird because I was at least a foot and a half taller than her. I felt like I was in some old movie.

"Fire away, ma'am." I was ready. Doing this job had the potential to give me an edge in the Games, and I wanted to be able to give Jack any help I could.

"Do you loathe Floyd Monotone with every fiber of your being?"

"Yes Ma'am," I answered respectfully. It was the cold, desolate, slowly-freezing-to-death truth.

"We need to break into his apartment. This is a matter of life and death, and this will be a rescue mission." she relaxed slightly but still held a tense focus.

"Who is the subject of rescue?" Could it have been some poor child that was kidnapped? Or perhaps a friend of Ari and Conrad's? Or perhaps it was the President himself! Who could it be? Whoever it was, I was ready to help them.

"Her name is Emilia," Arrietty explained, "She's very important to me, and I discovered that she was being held captive recently. I've been tracking Monotone for the last month, he won't be back for another 40 minutes. He always goes and buys a pack of cigarettes and three lottery tickets on Tuesday nights at the convenience store four blocks away. He walks slow, so we have some time but not too much."

"I hear you loud and clear. Just one quick question before we go. Why did you choose to call me?"

Arrietty sighed and averted her gaze for a moment. She bit her lip, then looked back up.

"Conrad's tied up at the moment, but she has connections all over the Capitol. I believe you know Aquitaine Winchester? She's a Gamemaker under me. She also happened to mention at one point how much you detest Floyd Monotone, which makes you a friend to us. After all, we can't just ask people if they hate him. His fans would go crawling back to him and then I would have to deal with him asking me questions."

"Understood. I'll help you rescue Emilia," I said, wishing I had face paint to smear across my cheeks like they did in the movies. Maybe I shouldn't have been so excited about a mission that probably involves breaking and entering and other illegal stuff: with possible rebellious undertones, nonetheless: but I couldn't help it.

"Thank you, Jupiter. Now...I need you to follow me." I expected her to go down the stairs with the loud clacking of the heels she normally wore on every occasion I've seen her, but her steps were soundless. She wasn't even wearing socks. Now that was determination. This Emilia must have been a very important lady.

At the first landing she came to, she whipped out her phone. "Kill the feed now." The tension in the air was so thick you could cut it with a knife. I only then noticed the sweat coalescing at my armpits and my heartbeat loud in my ears. She put the phone back in her hoodie pocket and opened the door, motioning for me to go inside with one hand and putting a finger to her lips with the other. I did my best to be as quiet as she was, but considering I was significantly taller and bulkier than the Capitolite, it wasn't exactly easy.

Jack had better win the stupid Games for this, I thought, as I entered the hallway, prepared to break the door down. Arrietty strode quietly on the balls of her feet to the second door on the right and zipped her jacket up soundlessly. She crouched, and examined the cat door on the otherwise unremarkable door with a gold plate numbered 1234. That's the most boring apartment number I've ever seen, I thought with disdain. I was so disgusted I almost missed the part where Arrietty poked me with a crowbar and gestured to the cat door.

Of course. Why bring last year's Victor with you on this wild job if you had nothing for him to do? Carefully, I tucked the end into the edge of the door, and used all of my strength to pry it open. It was tough, much too tough for a Capitolite, but I had those District 2 guns you couldn't find anywhere else. With enough of my effort, the door gave enough for me to get it open. She dropped to the ground and crawled through. It took me a moment and a tug on the pant leg from her to realize that she wanted me to crawl through, too.

"You expect me to go through there!?" I hissed, but was soon on my hands and knees, starting to try and slide my way through. It was small, too small for someone like me, and halfway through I got stuck. I'd been told I had a big ass before, but this was just ridiculous. You'd better be goddamn grateful for your mentor, Cherenkov, I thought, trying everything I could to push myself through the tiny-ass opening while Arrietty watched. Shouldn't she have been looking for Emilia?

"A little help here?" I whispered irritably. "We can't have Monotone walking back to my ass and legs hanging out of his cat door." Her face snapped to me, a little surprised, then she nodded. Arrietty took my hands in hers and yanked with all the might in her petite frame. One, two, three tugs and my lower half finally squeezed through the opening, and I was able to slide the rest of the way out and make it to my feet. My lower back was not happy about it, though.

"Okay, now we can talk freely. We couldn't make any noise in the hallway because the video feed was looped but not the audio." She abruptly turned and surveyed the apartment. When she turned the corner around the entryway she made a choking noise and started coughing so hard she leaned on the wall for support, as if she were trying not to throw up.

My heart was pounding with adrenaline and nerves as I crossed the drab, generic apartment to join her in the other room. I always knew that Floyd was horrible, but nothing could have prepared me for the sight I would see once I got there.

The walls of the living room were covered with this ugly-ass vomit-green wallpaper and the furniture, shit brown. On each wall was a single painfully drab and average painting. And on the coffee table in front of the TV sat the most beautiful cat I had ever seen.

She had a full, luxuriously long white coat, speckled with generous, thoughtfully placed splotches of black and carmel along her tail, spine, legs, and face. One ear was adorably completely black, and the opposite eye was also splotched in black, framing perfect, curious and vigilant emerald jewels for eyes. Her poise was graceful, befitting of a lady of the court, and her burgundy collar complimented her stance beautifully. By the time she stood, stretched, and uttered a single trill of a mew, I was completely sold, captivated, and won over by this exquisite showcase example of the feline race.

To think that such a cat was living here was an absolute nightmare. We had to save her, Emilia be damned. I could tell Arrietty was just as entranced by the allure of this cat as she hesitantly approached her.

"You find Emilia, I'll take the cat," I said.

For the first time ever, I saw a genuine smile grace Ari's face. "This is Emilia."

"...Oh." Everything became clear. This dear cat needed rescued from this hideous apartment and terrible man. Arrietty scooped up Emilia, who didn't protest. It was almost as if she knew we were rescuing her from the clutches of all that is despicable.

"Let's bail," I said, not wanting to risk being caught. I really didn't need a punishment from the President, after all, and neither did she. We hurried to the door.

"I'll carry Emilia, but I'll need you to come through the cat door again so the door gets locked up how it needs to be." She gestured to the latch that meant we couldn't just both go out the front door without Monotone noticing a disturbance.

"Fine." You're welcome, Cherenkov. She unlatched the door, walked through and ever so carefully closed it, soundlessly. I redid the latch and mentally steeled myself to crawl back through that hellhole one last time. Then, I started through. I wiggled like a bitch, but by some miracle I made it through without requiring her help. We were clear. She nodded in approval at me and started towards the landing. Soon we were back at the top floor in front of room 1201, where I met her originally.

"Thank you for your help, Jupiter. I knew you would be of great aid to this mission." Arrietty adjusted the gorgeous little lady in her arms and smiled cordially.

"Any time, Ma'am. An enemy of Monotone is a friend of mine."

"Isn't that the truth," she snickered. "In any case, you are welcome to contact Conrad and by extension me, at any time. Since now we are friends in arms, after all. I owe you that much for this service."

I gave a nod, still stunned that I wasn't actually lying to the other mentors when I said it was a cat emergency. The others… My house… Shit! I left the cream puffs in the oven!

"I have to go now," I said quickly. "Cream puff emergency."

Arrietty shook her bangs out of her face, still smiling. "Understood. Goodnight, Jupiter Tamboli. Travel home safe."

I turned and briskly walked back to the elevator after that with a quick "Thanks, night!" called over my shoulder.

Now how can I twist story to the guys back home to make it sound legal…?