A/N: What's up, guys? I must say that I'm extra glad it's Friday. One, that means that my tests are done for the week. Two, a shopping spree awaits me this weekend.
And then an essay and a lot of French homework, but I'm not going to think about that right now.
Not much to say/ramble today. Weird. Guess I'll just cut right to the chapter, then.
Today's quote comes from Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows Part One.
Random Disclaimer: I do not own CF, though I do own a rather fantastic fedora; "Think you used enough dynamite there, Butch?"; "Why is the rum always gone?"; "Why so serious?"; "I'll get you my pretty! And your little dog, too!"; "I am Asneeze, father of Achoo."; "Dobby did not mean to kill . . . only to maim . . . or seriously injure."
Chapter 6
I'm surprised that Peeta is not lying on the ground in pain, clutching his hand that I must surely be breaking with my iron grip. My only reassurance is the equally tight grip he has on my own hand. Peeta and I simply stand in front of the desk, staring at President Snow. I'm regarding him like I would the venomous snake he reminds me of—with caution—contemplating escape routes.
During the past few months, I have not forgotten the look he gave me when he crowned me Victor, all the hate, the blame that was gleaming menacingly in his serpentine eyes. But I admit that it had been thrust to the very back of my mind, my exploration of my love for Peeta and feeling it encompass me taking center stage, forcing away the unpleasantness of the Games and all its connections. I see now that my mind was only giving me a distraction, a lovely one for sure, but a distraction nonetheless from the danger that I sensed was coming. Any time my worry had fought through my love-dazed mind, and I'd voiced it, Peeta remained steadfast in his belief that it would all work out.
I have to fight the distinct urge, no matter the precarious situation, to break the silence and tell Peeta, "I told you so."
In reality, President Snow is the one who breaks the silence. He gestures to the chairs in front of the desk. "Let's sit."
It's spoken as a suggestion, but I know that it's not a request. With great reluctance, I let go of Peeta's hand and take a seat in the chair closest to me. I focus on the sting of blood rushing into my hand, trying to restore circulation. The pain is actually a good distraction because now that I don't have any connection to Peeta I feel more vulnerable than ever. A few moments ago we were a united front, like we were during the Games. But now, President Snow has forced us to separate. The phrase, "divide and conquer," flashes through my mind, and my gut clenches.
Despite the fear I feel, I'm still able to summon anger. I hate how President Snow has made me feel as though I'm an intruder in my own home, how I feel as though I'm the stranger. It all goes back to power. Though this house is mine, ultimately, it's the Capitol's and therefore President Snow's. I hate how it seems that he always wins.
"I think we'll make this whole situation easier, if we agree not to lie to each other."
Peeta and I share a glance. "Yes, I think that would save time," I say, surprised when my voice comes out steady.
President Snow smiles, and I fight a shiver. His too-full, surgically-altered lips are stretched over his teeth, and I wonder how anyone thought that it might make his smile more personable. Personally, I think it was a waste of money because there's no way in hell that this snake could put anyone at ease with his smile.
The scent of roses and blood is stronger now that I'm closer to him, and I notice that there is a single, white rose in his lapel. So that's the source of the rose perfume, but I know that no ordinary rose could have an aroma so potent. It must be genetically enhanced.
I still don't understand where the smell of blood is coming from.
"My advisors were concerned that you might be difficult," he continues casually, though there is so much left unsaid in his tone. Danger. "But you're not planning on being difficult, are you?"
He glances from me to Peeta, but his gaze certainly lingers on me the longest. Peeta notices too because I see his fingers clench around the arm rest of his chair in my peripheral vision. "No," I say.
"Why would we be difficult?" Peeta asks, speaking for the first time, his voice measured.
"That's what I said," Snow says, sounding like he's trying to be humorous. "I said that any couple who goes to such lengths to preserve each other's life isn't going to be interested in throwing it away with both hands. And then there are your families to think about."
Peeta and I are statues. It doesn't take a genius to hear the very thinly veiled threat. My jaw clenches as Snow directs his eyes to me. "Your mother, your sister, and all those . . . cousins."
By the way he lingers on the word "cousins" I know that he means the Hawthornes, specifically Gale. You see, when the Capitol interviewed my family when I was in the final eight during the Games, they also asked about my friends. Of course, everyone directed them to Gale. And Gale, being as handsome and strong as he is, made the people uneasy. No one liked the idea of him being my friend, thinking that it would jeopardize my relationship with Peeta. A love triangle was the last thing that they wanted. So someone made up the lie that Gale was my cousin.
Obviously, it wasn't enough to fool President Snow.
He turns his gaze to Peeta. "And you, Mr. Mellark. You have quite the family, do you not? Your father, well, I hear he's a very well-loved man. And your brothers? Two of them, correct? One is quite the jokester . . . it would be a pity for one of his pranks to go wrong."
Peeta's eyes narrow, though the fear and worry filling his blue eyes is hardly hidden by the action.
Rye, I think. Snow is talking about Rye, the other Mellark that I've grown to be particularly fond of. Once you got over his almost obnoxious teasing and jokes, he had a heart of gold, just like Peeta. And Rye couldn't live with himself if he didn't make you smile at least once.
"I have a problem, you see," says President Snow. "A problem that began the moment you pulled out those poisonous berries in the arena."
My mind instantly flashes back to that moment, the moment when Claudius Templesmith announced the rule change, when he said that Peeta and I would have to choose who lived and who died. There could only be one winner. I remember my and Peeta's argument, every word, as both of us fought to convince the other that they should be the one to live.
That was when I thought that maybe, just maybe, there was a way for both of us to live. Because, after all, the Games had to have a victor . . . but what if that option was taken away? So I had pulled out the berries, hoping that the Gamemakers would rather have two winners than none.
"If the Head Gamemaker, Seneca Crane, had had any brains, he'd have blown both of you to dust right then. But he had an unfortunate sentimental streak. So here you are. Can you guess where he is?" Snow asks.
I nod because it's obvious by his inflection that Seneca Crane is dead.
"After that, there was nothing to do but let you play out your little scenario, the great love that you shared. The people in the Capitol were quite convinced. Unfortunately, not everyone in the districts fell for your act," he says.
"Act?" I question sharply. "It was no act."
Peeta shoots me a look of warning, but I ignore him and glare at Snow. I have enough of a time questioning my own feelings, and I do not need anyone else thinking that they have the brains to think that they know how I feel. Even President Snow.
"Oh, I believe you, Miss Everdeen," Snow assures me. "You misunderstand my words. When I say 'act' I mean to say that some people in the other districts, several of them in fact, saw your trick with the berries as an act of defiance, not an act of love. Of course, you have no access to information about the mood in other districts, so this should come as a surprise to you. But you see, the thing is that if a girl from District 12, of all places, can defy the Capitol and walk away unharmed, what is to stop them from doing the same? What is to prevent, say, an uprising?"
I'm stunned by his words. Uprisings? Because of my actions? I hadn't meant cause an uprising or start any form of rebellion. All I wanted was for Peeta to live.
"There have been uprisings?" Peeta asks.
I still can't get over the fact. Uprisings? I'm fearful and elated at the same time.
"Not yet. But they'll follow if the course of things doesn't change. And uprisings have been known to lead to revolution." President Snow's eyes seem to linger on Peeta in a way that I don't like, appraising. "You, Mr. Mellark, you're the one in the relationship that sees the big picture, aren't you? And you must realize what a revolution would mean? How many people would die? What conditions those left would have to face? Whatever problems anyone may have with the Capitol, believe me when I say that if it released its grip on the districts for even a short time, the entire system would collapse."
I'm confused as to why Snow has singled out Peeta. Why would he think that Peeta would be more affected by his words than me? I think of what he said, and slowly it begins to dawn on me. Snow is playing on Peeta's kind heart. Peeta, being the good person he is, would never want to do anything that would affect so many people so negatively.
The fact that Snow is trying to manipulate Peeta causes a righteous fury to course through me. It's this anger that gives me the gumption to say, "It must be very fragile, if a handful of berries can bring it down."
Peeta glares at me worriedly, warning me to watch my words, but I'm not him. I don't have the patience to sit back and think of just the right words to use. I say what I mean when I want.
Snow stares at me a long time, as if debating something, before finally saying, "It is fragile, but not in the way you suppose."
Suddenly, there's a knock on the door, and the Capitol man sticks his head in, "Her mother wants to know if you want tea."
"I would," Snow says, his repulsive smile on display. "I would like tea."
My mother immediately comes in with a tray in her hands. A china set that she brought to the Seam when she married my father sits on the tray, and I see three cups and a plate of cookies. "Set it here, please." The president pats a spot on the end of the desk, and my mother sets the tray down as he asked, shooting me a worried look as she passes me.
"What a welcome sight. You know, it's funny how often people forget that presidents need to eat, too," Snow says, as if he's trying to be charming. If this is his version of charming, it really needs some work, but his words seem to appease my mother a bit and set her at ease.
"Can I get you anything else?" she asks. "I can cook something more substantial if you're hungry."
"No, this could not be more perfect. Thank you," he says, and by his tone, it's plain that my mother is dismissed.
She gives me another worried look as she passes me, and this time I can't muster up the effort to give her another reassuring smile. Once the door closes, my eyes refocus on Snow, who is pouring three cups of tea.
Simply for something to do, to distract me, I take my cup of tea and hold it in my hands. Snow fills his cup with cream and sugar, and then takes a long time stirring, purposely I know. He's trying to make Peeta and me more nervous than we already are. It's working.
Peeta glances at me before looking back at Snow. "We didn't mean to start any uprisings," he says.
"I believe you." Snow looks between the two of us. "But it doesn't matter," he continues as his eyes focus on me. It makes sense. He blames me for all of this. "Your stylist turned out to be prophetic in his wardrobe choice. Katniss Everdeen, the girl who was on fire, you have provided a spark that, left unattended, may grow into an inferno that destroys Panem."
Okay. That sounds a little dramatic, but no less scary.
"Why don't you just kill me now?" I ask bluntly.
"Us," Peeta interjects, and I glare at him.
"Peeta—" I begin, but Snow interrupts me with a chuckle.
I didn't think him capable.
He looks between Peeta and me and I think he's actually genuinely amused. "You still can't decide who lives or dies?" he asks rhetorically. "Charming."
Funny. I don't think it's very charming at all. Annoying, maybe. But that's only because Peeta is such a ridiculously selfless person.
"But I can't kill either you publically," Snow says, shaking his head. "That would only add fuel to the flames."
"Arrange an accident, then," Peeta suggests.
"Who would buy it?" Snow asks. "Neither of you, if you were watching."
"Then just tell us what you want us to do," I say, a strained quality in my voice that wasn't there before. "We'll do it."
"If only it were that simple." Snow looks down at the tray my mother brought in, picking up a cookie and examining it. It's beautifully frosted with flowers on it, definitely Peeta's work. "Lovely. Your mother made these?"
"I did," Peeta speaks up and Snow nods, as if he remembered.
"Ah, yes. You're an artist."
"I just like to paint," Peeta says with a slight shrug. "I'm a really simple guy. I paint. I bake. Occasionally, I branch out have a drink with Haymitch." He says this with a small, charming smile, even though I know it's a lie . . . I think. "I really like honesty, though. Truth will always win out, in my opinion. And I thought we agreed not to lie to each other."
I'm surprised by Peeta's words. What does he see that I don't?
President Snow's eyes narrow. "You do have a way with words, Mr. Mellark. You're likable, personable, quite . . . persuasive. And yes, we did agree not to lie to each other. So, what are you asking?"
"What do you want us to do?" Peeta asks. "You wouldn't leave the Capitol just to come here and threaten us. You want us to calm the districts, so how do you want us to do it?"
Oh. That's what I didn't see.
"You are clever, aren't you?" Snow questions, and I feel the hairs on the back of my neck rise. "Clever in a different way from Miss Everdeen. You do complement each other well, I must admit," he says before looking at us seriously, threateningly. "This Tour will be your only chance to turn things around," he says. "You will have to convince everyone that your actions were induced by a passionate love, not by a need to defy the Capitol."
"We will," I promise quickly, eager to get him out of my house. "We'll be crazy in love," I frown, adding as I glance at Peeta, "More than normal."
President Snow rises from his chair. "Aim higher in case you fall short."
"What do you mean? How can I aim higher?" I don't know what he's asking of me.
"Convince me," Snow says before grabbing his book from the desk. I stay frozen as he passes me, and it's not until I hear the front door close and the soft purr of a car engine outside that I relax.
Simultaneously, Peeta and I slowly get to our feet, both of us feeling drained and the day isn't even half over. I'm at his side in an instant, and as irrational as it is, when Peeta wraps his arms around me and pulls me to him, I feel safer. But even the comfort of Peeta's embrace cannot overcome the fear flowing freely through me.
"What did he mean Peeta?" I ask confused. "When he said that I had to convince him? He said that he believed we were in love. What else do I have to convince him of?"
I feel Peeta's lips in my hair. He's trying to calm me, and only because it's him is he marginally successful. "I think he means for you to convince him that you weren't defying the Capitol."
"But I wasn't," I say. "I pulled out those berries because I didn't want you to die. I did that because I love you, and he said he believes me."
"You can still be in love with me and defy the Capitol at the same time," Peeta explains softly. "And that's what Snow thinks."
"But . . . then all of this, this making the districts think we were driven insane by love and that it wasn't an act of defiance . . . it's pointless," I realize. "He won't change his mind."
"No," Peeta agrees. "But maybe we can still convince the districts."
"But that's not what matters, Peeta." I'm beginning to shake with anxiety. If I fail, Snow will hurt Prim. My mother. Gale. The rest of the Hawthornes. Peeta's family. "We have to convince him."
"He's just worried about the uprisings," Peeta says, beginning to rub small circles on my back. "If we can shut those down, then we should be in the clear."
I don't reply. My mind is racing with thoughts of walking home one day and finding Prim or my mother dead. Passing a weeping Hazelle and seeing Gale's pale corpse. Death. Will it always haunt me?
"Hey," Peeta calls softly and I look up at him. "I love you."
Despite everything, those words bring a small smile to my lips. They always will. "I love you, too."
"Then we'll be okay." Peeta seems so sure, placing a gentle kiss on my lips. "We'll be okay."
I wish I could believe him.
Peeta, you're always the optimist.
Okay, some of you may be surprised that Snow felt the need to drop in and threaten PK. Despite the fact that they're actually in love in my version, I think that Snow would have dropping in to say, "Hi" anyway. It's not because he doesn't think PK don't love each other. He does. He's just running them in circles, giving them this task to keep them distracted. By threatening their families, he thinks that they won't say anything to fuel the fire of the rebellion.
Of course, he always seems to underestimate Katniss and overestimate Peeta. So, we'll see if his little nefarious plot turns out how he wants it to.
Next chapter is fun. The Victory Tour begins. A conversation with PK and Haymitch takes place that doesn't end happily . . . little bit of drama next chapter. Glorious!
Quote! I must give you a quote! Hmm. . . Katniss!
"Exactly how many fantasies do you have?"
Lots of love,
AC
