Chapter Five: Playthings

Isa had talked on for over half an hour about nothing particularly notable. The escort had an amazing ability to revert the conversation back to her no matter what they were talking about. Stephanie merely listened, for now content, as she greedily devoured mouthful after mouthful of savoury and sweet foods.

Finally Isa had ceased talking. Well, more in particular she had ceased talking to them, and was now babbling ecstatically into the rectangular object, much to Stephanie's confusion. Stephanie may have helped make the thing, but she sure in hell didn't know the slightest thing about it. Isa got up, and after politely excusing herself practically ran from the carriage. Stephanie stared after her utterly perplexed until…

"Well, Miss Stephanie Trindlesworth?" Haymitch made sure to pronounce every syllable of her name with deliberate slowness.

She quirked an eyebrow at him. "What?"

"Oh, nothing. Just wondering sweetheart, if you could give us a heads up the next time you decide to blow a fuse," he said, smiling sweetly at her.

She almost bit her tongue off in restraining herself from replying. Instead, smiling as sweetly in return, she repeated the words, He's my mentor. I need him, over and over again in her head like a mantra. However Haymitch had a fair idea of what was going on; after all he had been mentoring tributes for a decade now.

"If it wouldn't be any trouble, could you get me a glass with some ice sweetheart?" he asked as he reclined on the sofa. She grinded her teeth together.

"I thought you had enough ice," she replied with a smirk, motioning discreetly to the bulging silk handkerchief. He narrowed his eyes at her.

"Get me a glass."

"Fine."

She placed the glass on the table in front of him harshly, and sat down beside Frenkin once more. "So," she leaned forward, eagerly waiting.

Haymitch eyed her suspiciously. "What?" he snapped.

"Are you going to do your job as mentor or not?"

"Sweetheart, let's get one thing straight; this mentoring thing – ain't my choice."

"How come you're never at the Reapings?" Frenkin suddenly piped up, startling them both for a moment. Haymitch turned to glare at Frenkin for a moment, making the poor boy cower a little in his chair.

"Because…" he began nonchalantly.

"You were too drunk to even stand probably," she finished.

"That's a matter of opinion," he replied slowly, and if looks could kill Stephanie wouldn't make it to the arena.

"Well…are you going to give us advice or not?" she said angrily.

"You know something, I don't much like you."

"The feeling is mutual. Nothing gained - nothing lost," Stephanie said, extending her hand to him as a goodwill gesture. He remained unmoving for a few moments before rolling his eyes, he took her hand roughly and shook it.

"Truce?"

"Truce."

"So…" she prompted him a little sharply as he took another swig from the bottle.

"So, you two will be participating in the 100th Hunger Games. Lucky you's."

"What can we expect then?"

"The Gamemakers make it so that you can't predict anything. However…"

"However…!"

"You really have no patience, do you? Fine. There are a few basic things I can teach you or advise you on that are applicable to all Games."

"What does Isa mean by 'special' Games?" Frenkin's frightened voice managed to get the sentence out without cracking.

"Well…they're making the Games more…erm, professional."

"Professional?" she inquired, eyebrow arched.

"Yea, in a way. You see the Games are hyped up and then the actual Games are over within a fortnight. However to celebrate a century this Fourth Quarter Quell, the Games have been…well…extended." For the first time since Stephanie had met him, Haymitch's face was devoid of any sarcastic humour. His vivid, grey eyes were sad as the brutal truth began to sink in.

A fortnight of hell, of not being able to trust anyone but yourself, being forced to kill people you didn't know and being hunted by those very same people. Knowing that if they wanted with a push of a button you would be dead. They made you become a murderer, changed you so that you could never go back to the way you were before. All that pain and suffering…and to celebrate it, they were going to make it longer?!

Stephanie heard a strangled sob escape Frenkin's lips as she grinded her own teeth together. "How long?" she asked quietly.

For a moment Haymitch's grey gaze locked with her trembling gold gaze, and his eyes held nothing but pity. But she looked away quickly. She didn't want his pity. His pity couldn't help her.

"A month, a month and a half?" he replied.

Another gurgled sob escaped Frenkin as his oversized glasses misted over.

"Come on kid," Haymitch said kindly, patting Frenkin's knee softly. Stephanie scooted over on the sofa to the younger boy and hesitantly wrapped an arm around his heaving shoulders. She was the baby of her family back in District 3. She wasn't used to being the one having to do the comforting.

Frenkin clung to her silk, green shirt until his sobs had died down and he pulled away to sit up straight. The whole time Haymitch had simply remained silent, staring off into space with a sad expression on his face. When Frenkin had stopped crying he had shoved a tissue into Frenkin's hand and cleared his throat gruffly.

"So, a week of training and then a month of the Games?" Stephanie asked, as she slipped her arm gently from around Frenkin's shoulders. She frowned as she suddenly felt a strange feeling of coldness creep over her without the comforting weight of Frenkin leaning against her. I guess we all need human contact, she thought to herself.

"Not quite."

Her head snapped up to look at Haymitch, anger already colouring her cheeks red. "What, do we have to do the games blindfolded as well?" she snapped angrily.

Frenkin gave a loud guffaw, making her jump. She hadn't said it to amuse. She was raging that first of all, it had been seen fit to elongate the Games and now there was something else.

"On account of the Games being lengthened the training has also been lengthened," Haymitch said.

"So two weeks training."

"No."

"Three weeks."

"Stop guessing."

"Fine, tell me then."

"I would, if you let me."

Silence.

"Good. Now the time you will spend in the Capitol will be a lot of weeks."

"Weeks!" Frenkin and Stephanie exclaimed simultaneously.

"Doing what exactly?" Stephanie demanded, an eyebrow arched incredulously.

"It was some Gamemaker's idea. The idea is, and I quote: 'See the tributes as you have never seen them before! Have a chance to meet them and socialise with them before the Games!'" Haymitch answered with audible sarcasm.

"Socialise! Frickin socialise! What am I meant to do, enjoy a pina colada with them as they wave me off to my death?! This is ridiculous!" Stephanie was standing now, almost shouting.

"It may be worked to your advantage," Haymitch said sternly.

"How?!" she shouted.

"It could give you a chance to directly obtain sponsors yourself. One of the airheads might even let something slip about the Games," he replied.

She scoffed and walked over to the window, leaning on her arms against it, forcing herself to breathe calmly. Talk about adding insult to injury, she thought bitterly to herself.

"So for weeks, we have to run about jumping through hoops like some Capitol trained poodle," she snapped.

"If you don't, other tributes will…and they will get sponsors," Haymitch answered, and then more gently added, "They want to build you up into something more. Think of it like the interview with Flickerman, only extended. Insulting as it may be, you are new playthings to them and they want to find out how you work, what you like, dislike, who you love, etcetera, etcetera. The more interesting you are; the more sponsors you will get."

"I thought that they only sponsored the Careers, the ones that always win?" Frenkin asked innocently.

"That's precisely the point. In order for these longer games to work, more tributes need to survive for longer. After the normal week of physical training you're given your score by the Gamemakers, and the sponsors primarily choose their tribute based on that. The training has been lengthened because of the longer Games. But, in order to achieve sponsors for the other tributes who haven't got so much in strength, they are appealing to their personalities. And what better way, than to make you attend Capitol parties and the such to socialise with the very people that will be sponsoring you."

"They want to make us into celebrities or something of the such?"

"In short, yes. They think it will add to the dramatics of the Games."

Stephanie clenched her jaw tightly fighting back the tears that threatened. In her tears were her anger and the knowing thought that she could do absolutely nothing to stop this …this humiliation. They were going to murder her on live television for her family to see. Wasn't that enough?

"Are we really nothing more than playthings to them? To be moulded and used and then thrown away when broken…?"

Haymitch sighed deeply before looking up at her with a smirk, that didn't quite reach his eyes.

"Welcome to the Capitol."