Chapter Two
"Well isn't this fun Sweetheart? All dressed up to celebrate with all of our favorite people."
Katniss looks to her right to see a moderately sober Haymitch sipping champagne out of a fancy crystal flute. Of course, "moderately sober" is a relative term. Haymitch's eyes are bloodshot and his words are slightly slurred, but at least he's still standing.
Somehow, Katniss doesn't have much faith that he will make it longer than an hour at this party. If the fifteen-year-old thought she could get away with it, she would join her mentor and ditch this place at the earliest opportunity; but this entire event is in her honor, and this is the first time in over an hour that the new victor has not been surrounded by at least three Capitol citizens all fighting for her attention.
"Yes. Very fun," she mutters back, "You definitely look like you're enjoying yourself."
Haymitch, seeing her nod towards his flute of champagne, grins and lifts his glass in a silent toast before swallowing a large gulp of the bubbly drink. "One thing you can say... Well, one thing, you've got to hand it to the Capitol, their alcohol almost makes the trip up here worth it."
Katniss just rolls her eyes and turns back to glower at the ballroom. If she had anyone else to talk to—anyone who wouldn't either squeal her name or wax poetic about their favorite kill from this year's Hunger Games—she would walk away. As it is though, the town drunk is the most pleasant company here.
"How long do I have to stay here Haymitch?" she hisses, staring in disgust as a particularly rotund old man dressed in a skin-tight yellow jump suit stumbles into the designated vomit room. In District Twelve, surviving to old age is seen as the ultimate sign of strength, and the elderly are held in the highest regard. Here, everyone over the age of fifty is trying to pretend they are still twenty.
"Here, here?" Haymitch asks with a negligent wave of his hand, "or here, here?" he finishes, throwing both of his arms out wide and spilling half of his remaining champagne on the marble floor in the process.
If they were any less alike, Katniss is sure she wouldn't have understood his query. But since she does comprehend his nonsensical question, she copies his negligent hand wave to indicate that she is referring to the party itself and not the Capitol as a whole, and says, "Here, here."
Haymitch barks a laugh and slurs, "Unfortunately for you Sweetheart, you'll have to be here 'till the last Capitol citizen finally gets tired and leaves." At her horrified expression he continues unrepentantly, "You're the guest of honor, gotta keep your adoring fans happy! You can be charming for a few more hours, can't you?"
"You're not trying to leave us already, are you Girl-on-Fire?" a smooth voice interrupts, and Katniss turns from glaring at Haymitch to see Finnick Odair, victor of the 65th Hunger Games.
Katniss has to admit, the cameras don't do him justice. At fourteen, he already had half of Panem in love with his smile and brilliant green eyes. Now, two years later, he is even more attractive. He's grown and filled out, the softness in his face giving way to a defined jaw and high cheekbones.
"Of course not," she replies, "As my always helpful mentor was just saying, I'm here until the last guest leaves."
"Well that's good. I was so hoping to get the chance to dance with you," he smiles charmingly and gestures towards the dance floor, where dozens of couples in brightly colored outfits are twirling gracefully around one another.
Katniss eyes him speculatively, hearing Haymitch snort with poorly suppressed mirth beside her. She has no real interest in dancing, doesn't know how to honestly, but Finnick is a victor, the closest victor to her age, and despite the fact that the news frequently shows him partying in the Capitol, he is bound to be better company than any of this city's citizens. Besides, Haymitch is going to ditch her soon; she doesn't want to be left completely alone with her fans when he leaves.
"I can't dance," she admits.
Finnick's eyes light up. "I could teach you." He looks far too excited by the idea, rocking up onto the balls of his feet as he makes the offer.
"How about instead of dancing, you show me which foods on those buffet tables are good," Katniss nods towards the five long tables overflowing with enough food to feed everyone in District Twelve for the next year. Spotting the disappointed look spreading across Finnick's face, she adds, "And maybe if I like your suggestions, I'll let you teach me to dance."
"If you wanted to know which foods are good, you coulda just asked Sweetheart," Haymitch butts in. "Been coming up here for almost twenty years; I know all the good stuff."
"You think moonshine and apple juice taste good together", she deadpans. This morning over breakfast, Katniss had accidentally taken a sip of his drink. If Capitol food was any less delicious—for instance, if she had been eating Greasy Sae's dog stew or, even worse, tree bark—that sip would have ruined her appetite. Thankfully, the caramel French toast was able to wash away the cringe worthy aftertaste of Haymitch's preferred morning pick-me-up.
"So it shouldn't be too hard for me to win that dance then? If he's my competition?" Finnick asks. His chin is lifted in an arrogant pose, but his crooked smile is a clear signal that he is joking.
"Think you can beat me do you?" Haymitch laughs. "Alright boy, you're on."
"Rules?" Finnick inquires, once again bouncing on the balls of his feet.
"We each pick three dishes—"
"Only three? That's criminal! Don't be so limiting Mr. Abernathy," Finnick cuts in, mockingly scolding.
"We each pick three dishes," Haymitch continues in a louder voice, putting special emphasis on the three, "and Sweetheart picks her three favorites. Whoever gets the most picks wins."
"Well to make the judging fair, we shouldn't tell her who chose which dish," Finnick argues reasonably, then ruins his seemingly mature response by adding, "Wouldn't want to unfairly bias her against your dishes!"
"Bias her against my dishes? I'd think you should be more worried about her being biased against your picks." Haymitch argues back with all the finesse of a five-year-old.
"Please. Nobody could look at me and not think I have good taste."
At this declaration both Katniss and Haymitch stare at Finnick incredulously. He is wearing a shear, white tunic shirt and sparkly, tight orange pants.
"The outfit was my prep-team's choice," he claims defensively, and Katniss finally loses it, her thus far quiet sniggering turning into boisterous laughs.
She wonders if both of them are carrying on like this in an attempt to cheer her up, knowing firsthand how difficult it is to cope right after winning the Games, especially with all of the Capitol's hoopla getting in the way of the victor's grieving period. If so, she's extremely grateful.
Finnick flashes her a grin and reaches for her hand, tucking it into the crook of his elbow. "Allow me to escort you to the judges table?"
Katniss nods absentmindedly, wondering at the fact that they have yet to be interrupted. It is only then that she notices the other victors. Several of them have formed a loose perimeter around her, Haymitch, and Finnick, and they appear to be intercepting all of the Capitol partygoers before they can intrude. Maybe it's not just the two men beside her that she should be grateful for.
"Here we are," Finnick says, positioning her to stand before one of the buffet tables. He reaches out, and with Haymitch's help, clears an area for their food competition.
"Not sure how this is supposed to be anonymous with her standing right here," Haymitch complains.
"We could blindfold her."
"Don't get too adventurous too soon boy," Haymitch advises, and they both burst into raucous laughter.
Realizing that that must have been a joke at her expense, and that it was most likely sexual, Katniss glares at them until they are quiet. Neither man can tell if her face is red from anger or embarrassment, though Haymitch is willing to bet it's the latter.
"I'll just face towards the wall," she grumbles and turns to do just that.
No more than five minutes pass before Haymitch taps her on the shoulder and tells her to turn around to judge them.
Laid out before her are six small china plates, each with a serving of some delicious looking food. Her mouth waters at the sight, though only two of the dishes look even vaguely familiar. "What are these?"
"The one on the far left is shrimp bruschetta, and the one next to it is steak with wine sauce, then there's creamy mushroom risotto, and a stuffed avocado, and a vegetable calzone, and last, there's the lamb stew," Finnick explains happily, pointing to each dish in turn.
"Well go on. Try them and tell us who won," Haymitch grunts after a minute of watching her eye the food hungrily.
She shoots him an annoyed look but obediently steps forward and picks up the plate of shrimp bruschetta. The small piece of toast with its creamy topping is probably the best thing Katniss has ever put in her mouth, and she nearly moans at the taste. After that first bite, the new victor quickly devours the rest of the delectable treats, savoring every mouthful.
Haymitch is right. The food almost makes the trip to the Capitol worth it. He'd been referring to the alcohol when he'd said that, but Katniss thinks the food must be just as deserving of such praise.
"So? Who wins?" Finnick presses eagerly.
Katniss stares at the now empty chinaware, having trouble deciding, before slowly pointing to the plates that had held the shrimp bruschetta, mushroom risotto, and lamb stew. Though everything was delightful, Katniss thinks the lamb stew is still her favorite.
"Yes! I am a victor among victors!" Finnick crows.
"Which were yours?" she asks.
"The shrimp bruschetta, creamy mushroom risotto, and stuffed avocado," he responds, throwing a triumphant look at Haymitch.
"Ya ya, very impressive," Haymitch grumbles, mock glaring at Katniss.
She'd answered honestly, unsure who had picked which item, but she had been hoping that Haymitch would win so that she could avoid being pulled out onto the dance floor. She gives him an unsympathetic shrug, and he rolls his eyes before smiling and finishing off his last glass of champagne.
"Well I suppose I've spent enough time here for Effie to stay off my case. Have fun dancing Katniss," he taunts, before making a beeline for the exit.
Katniss watches her mentor's retreating back for a moment, then turns to see Finnick smiling at her smugly.
"May I have this dance?" he requests, giving her a small, teasing bow.
"I suppose I did like your food," she agrees and takes his outstretched hand.
Finnick pulls her into position at the edge of the dance floor, avoiding the center where the more talented and experienced dancers twirl through elaborate steps. The longer Katniss watches them, the tenser and more self-conscious she becomes.
"Relax Girl-on-Fire. It's not nearly as difficult as those people are making it look." At her disbelieving look, he persists, "Most of the dances have really simple basic steps. All of those dancers are just adding extras to show off.
"See, like this dance that's playing right now. It's just two steps forward, then two steps back. I'll spin you on every third step back," he explains as he moves her through the paces.
They continue in this manner for another two songs, Finnick's patient coaching the only words that pass between them, and eventually Katniss begins to feel less awkward.
"Who taught you how to dance?" she asks, breaking the silence.
"Mags, my mentor," he responds. At her surprised expression, he grins and elaborates, "During my post-Games party, this old hag of a woman dragged me into the center of the dance floor. Wouldn't take no for an answer, even though I told her I didn't know how to dance. The lady just couldn't believe that I was telling the truth.
"Surely, even you poor, uneducated people from the districts must know how to dance!" Finnick mimics the woman's soprano in a scarily accurate Capitol accent, and Katniss fights to suppress her mirth.
"Of course, I completely embarrassed myself. I accidently knocked the lady flat on her butt, and it was like dominos, everyone falling down around us, and there I was still standing in the middle." Even two years later, the memory is still apparently enough to make Finnick blush, and Katniss feels torn between sympathy and uncontrollable laughter.
"So then Mags had to come and rescue me, and she spent the next month teaching me so I'd never embarrass myself again," he finishes with a dramatic wave of his hand.
There is an unmistakable fondness in Finnick's voice when he talks about his mentor. She sounds lovely, and Katniss hopes she gets to meet her sometime soon.
"Never embarrass yourself again, huh?" Katniss probes, hoping he will entertain her with another story.
"Nope, never." She raises a dubious eyebrow, and Finnick declares, "That's my story, and I'm sticking to it."
They lapse into silence for a moment, and Katniss looks around the ballroom, for the first time noticing that the crowd is finally beginning to thin. Hopefully that means she can leave soon. As nice as Finnick has been to her, Katniss is ready to be away from this crowd.
Suddenly Finnick's face lights up, and he leans in to whisper in Katniss's ear, "Look to your left. See that woman in the pink and red striped dress?"
Spotting her, Katniss nods and whispers back, "Yes. What about her?"
"She tried to gift me a monkey last month."
"A monkey?" Katniss asks flatly, unsure if Finnick is just making this up. Who would randomly give someone a monkey?
"Ya, a monkey. A cute little baby spider monkey. It was adorable. I didn't want it, of course. I don't exactly have anywhere to keep a pet monkey, but try telling her that! She just kept—"
"Mr. Odair," the smooth voice of President Snow interrupts, "you don't mind if I cut in, do you?"
Finnick whirls around to face the President, and all of the color drains from his face. "Of…of course not sir," he responds nervously. He turns back to look at Katniss and gives her a strained smile. "I'll talk to you later Katniss."
Snow reaches out and pulls her into the twirling crowd smoothly. "I see Mr. Odair has been teaching you how to dance." He spins her in synch with the rest of the dancers before pulling her back to him and saying, "It will be a good skill for you to have in the future."
"How so?" she inquires. She can't imagine she'll have much use for the ability once she gets back to District Twelve.
He smiles at her in an almost indulgent manner. "You are a very popular victor. I imagine that you will be receiving many invitations to social events in the future. Everyone wants the pleasure of your company, and it would be terribly impolite to turn them down."
"Well, I wouldn't want to be rude," she answers carefully, unsure where this conversation is headed.
"No, rudeness is highly unacceptable. You most certainly will not want to disappoint your fans and supporters."
"No sir, I wouldn't. They have been very kind to me," she says, hoping this will placate him.
"Indeed. You received some very generous gifts during the games."
Katniss is not sure that giving someone burn balm when they are on the brink of death is especially generous, especially not when the price of the balm would seem like a mere pittance to most of the Capitolites who attended the celebration tonight, but she nods in agreement anyways.
"And the doctors. They certainly did a wonderful job removing all of the scars you acquired. I'm sure your many admirers will be very pleased when the time comes."
Katniss is beginning to get a very uneasy feeling. Considering that most of the scarring was not visible when she was fully clothed, the new victor can't help but to think that the President must be implying that some of these admirers will be seeing her at least partially undressed.
"Yes. The medicine of the Capitol is incredible. I didn't realize that the restorative treatment was used on all of the victors," she tests. She knows that she has seen numerous victors with scarring, but maybe they requested to keep their marks as reminders or something.
President Snow chuckles lowly. "My dear Miss Everdeen, no, the treatment is not used on all of the victors. Only beautiful victors merit such healing. Like I said before, everyone wants the pleasure of your company, and we'd hate to disappoint your benefactors."
Snow smiles sharply. "I hope we understand each other Miss Everdeen."
She gives a slow nod to his statement, hoping that she is mistaken about his meaning. His smile widens, making him look more shark-like than ever, and he says, "Good. I look forward to talking to you again at the end of your victory tour. You've been lovely."
The President raises her slightly trembling hand to his lips and gives it a small kiss before walking away, leaving Katniss standing dazed at the edge of the dance floor.
She has a sinking feeling in her stomach, but denial claws at her throat. Surely Snow can't have been hinting at that. She is being paranoid. She knows she is. She has to be, because she has been through enough already. The world can't be that cruel.
