I didn't have to wait long before my intended company filed in. I turn to get a good look at my crush, and soon to be enemy. Her hair is wet, but she has left it up in the style that it was placed in for the reaping. It makes her hair look like black silk, braided and gleaming upon her head like a crown.
She, unlike myself, had settled into whatever she found comfortable out of the closet of clothes they had offered to her; a green blouse most befitting of her complexion, and dark pants. I don't miss the glint of gold on her chest and recognize it as a pin, one she was wearing when we left the justice building, and as I look at it more closely, it seems even more familiar…
"Where's Haymitch?" Effie's trilling voice asks, breaking through my thoughts. I turn away from Katniss and turn my attention to our Capitol guide.
"Last time I saw him, he said he was going to take a nap." I say, trying to keep the condescension out of my voice. I see Katniss leave Effie's side to pull out the chair directly across from me. She sat fluidly, and I looked to analyze her expression. She was calm, collected. She controlled her emotions to a tee. I can hear the relief in Effie's voice when she takes her place next to Katniss and says, "Well, it's been an exhausting day."
Dinner is like none other. The food is so rich and abundant, and I can hardly pace myself, though I do manage at least slightly better than Katniss, whom refuses to let even one bit go unfinished. I chuckle under my breath slightly, trying not to let her see it. She most certainly is one of a kind.
At some point, however, Effie makes a comment that, in other company, might have been paid as a compliment. Though, this is not the case between Katniss and I, who are both highly insulted by it. Though, I have to be impressed at Katniss; She determinably finished her meal in a "barbaric" fashion, making Effie understand, though we are all different, we are still all one people.
Upon completion of the meal I feel both amazingly well fed, and disgustingly sick. I remind myself next time to pace myself better. No need to lose my lunch over the fact that I can't slow down.
Although its not mandatory, I'm sure some tributes in the past have refused it before, we are lead to a small compartment to watch the other reapings. To have our initial meeting with our soon to be murderers.
I don't find much stock in watching the picking of children. Here and there, a few tributes stick out in my head, but mostly, I just watch Katniss, who is hugging her arms to her chest, watching with wide eyes as a girl, same age as her sister, is reaped among hundreds, if not thousands of young ones. I am baffled by the size of their population.
I watch as the girl climbs the stage, and no one sounds to take her place. It is as silent as death, and I feel my heart grow cold. I suddenly feel angry. The injustice of it all blinds me to anything else. And it is this little girl, being so much like Prim, except, with no one willing to take her place, that I decide it.
I will not be a part of these games. Not in the way they think. They will see me die; as Peeta Mellark. And I will die. Because I will do what no one else could do, what no one else would ever think to do. I will ensure the victory of Katniss Everdeen. No matter what it takes.
I will make the Capitol see me.
I tune back in for district twelve's reaping. It is strange, to see Katniss as the camera's saw her. Her eyes wide, movements almost feral. I, in comparison, seem calm, collected, bored even. All but for my eyes, which betray my shock, my fear.
The program ends and Effie huffs, apparently miffed that her wig had been displaced on public viewing. I swallow back a laugh patiently.
"Your mentor has a lot to learn about presentation. A lot about televised behavior."
I don't bother to hold back a laugh now. I know it's unexpected, but I can't help it. Effie's being rather ridiculous.
"He was drunk." I say, knowing full well this information will not surprise her. "He's drunk every year."
"Every day." Katniss pipes in. This sobers me up quickly. She's barely spoken since coming here. She smirks and I grin back. I find it hard to wipe the smile off my face, even against Effie's obvious chagrin and anger.
"Yes," Effie's voice now resembles that of a snake, and her body goes rigid. "How odd that you two find it amusing." What did she mean? Of course it was amusing. Haymitch was something of a joke to us all, a fool among victors.
"You know your mentor is your lifeline to the world in these games. The one who advises you, lines up your sponsors, and dictates the presentation of any gifts. Haymitch can well be the difference between your life and your death!" And it hits me then. We can poke fun all day long. But if Haymitch can't sober up, our fates are sealed.
As if on cue, Haymitch stumbles in, his face a sickly green.
"I miss supper?" His voice is gravelly and his words are slurred. I'm not even sure he's aware of where he is, or what he's doing. Seconds later, whatever was in his stomach comes spewing up and onto the floor, and then he proceeds to fall into it. I flinch.
"So laugh away!" Effie finishes, running out of the room as quickly as possible.