A/N: Hey guys! We made it through another week! Thank you so very much for your lovely reviews! They make my day! :)
Movie quote of the day comes from The Princess Bride.
"Hello! My name is Inigo Montoya! You killed my father! Prepare to die!" - Inigo Montoya
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."; "My precious!"; "Puny god"; "So that's what it feels like"; "Yeah, I can fly."; "There's only one God, ma'am, and I'm pretty sure he doesn't dress like that."; "Your skin is pale white, you dress fashionably, and you abstain from sex. . . I know what you are . . . Jonas brother"; "Snakes. I hate snakes."; "When you marooned me on that god forsaken spit of land, you forgot one very important thing, mate: I'm Captain Jack Sparrow."; "It's like Christmas, but with more . . . me."; "It's the unknown we fear when we look upon death and darkness, nothing more."; "It's beautiful isn't it, Harry? The moon."; "Hang on, everybody! I wanna try something I saw in a cartoon once!"; "Well that's as clean as it will ever be."; "Slimy, yet satisfying."; "You may not like it Minister, but you can't deny . . . Dumbledore's got style."; "Over that boy hand!"; "Don't ever hit your mother with a shovel. It leaves a dull impression on her mind."; "Hello! My name is Inigo Montoya! You killed my father! Prepare to die!"
Chapter 24
You know that strange, shivery feeling you get when someone is staring at you? Multiply those feelings times six and add on to that a whole new level of awkwardness and you can accurately understand how I feel in this very moment.
I had been sleeping, my head on Peeta's chest like always, when the sound of a whimper caused me to stir. And Peeta, ever alert and protective, even in slumber, began to awake the moment I did, his arm tightening around me. I blinked blearily, batting away sleep.
And I found myself staring into six pairs of teary eyes.
"What the hell?"
Peeta's voice seems to snap both our prep teams out of their silent stupor, and I notice Octavia fighting back a sob. I sit up in the bed, suddenly self-conscious because of the presence of Peeta's prep team, which consists of two men and a girl. One of the men has fiery red hair that is obviously dyed with dramatic purple makeup, and the other is dark-skinned with a shaven head, but with gold tattoos that tangle up both of his arms. The girl, pixie-like in stature, has short blonde hair and bright green eyes. She actually looks normal.
And all of them are studying me intently. "What?" I ask nervously.
"Nothing," the redheaded man shakes his head, his oddly squeaky voice catching. "It's just . . . you look so adorable!"
"Even if it's a bit oversized," the pixie girl sighs. "Peeta's shirt looks good on you."
You've got to be kidding me. Clothes? Seriously?
"Um, thanks," I say slowly, glancing at Peeta. "But why are you here?"
"Oh, well, you see, we couldn't find Peeta," the dark-skinned man explains. "He wasn't in his room."
"But Flavius found him in yours," the pixie girl pipes up. "So here we are."
"And you're so cute together!" Venia gushes, though tears are in her eyes. "It's such a shame about the Games. I was looking forward to your wedding!" Every member of the prep teams sniffles.
"Right." Of course. The wedding. Shame it's been canceled. "So, I guess it's time to get to the remake center?"
Octavia bats her eyes quickly, fighting back tears. "Yes, yes. But we can give you two some time alone. To get dressed properly." Her eyes drift to Peeta's bare torso and I resist the urge to growl and yank the sheet up to cover him.
My hormones have made me oddly possessive. Peeta thinks it's funny. Even now, I see him fighting not to smile out of the corner of my eye. "Thanks, Octavia," he says with a polite smile. "We'll be out in a minute."
Octavia smiles, her eyes still lingering on Peeta's shirtless state much too long for my liking. I even catch Flavius ogling. Venia seems to be the only one of my prep team unaffected, and I decide that she's my favorite. Peeta and I silently wait for our prep teams to vacate the room . . . and then wait a few seconds more . . .
"Um, guys?" Peeta prompts, looking pointedly at the door.
There's a chorus of apologies, and one by one, the members of our prep teams file out the door. Venia is kind enough to shut the door behind her, and the moment that we're alone again, both Peeta and I flop back down onto the bed heavily.
"That was creepy," I say after a moment.
"Yeah," Peeta agrees before turning on his side to face me, wearing a bright smile. "But at least I know all that training really paid off." His smile morphs into a smirk. "Even guys think I'm hot."
I scowl before shoving him onto his back. Before he has time to protest, I'm straddling his waist and whatever complaint he was about to voice is forgotten. "Only I am allowed to admire you in a shirtless state," I tell him possessively, absently running my hands over his chest. "Or any other state of undress for that matter."
Peeta chuckles, amusement shining in his eyes. "You do realize that all of Panem has already seen me practically naked, right?"
I frown at the reminder. In our games, during our confrontation with the Career Pack, Peeta had gotten cut by Cato. I'd shot down the tracker jacker nest, causing Peeta and I to become separated. And while I spent the next few days thinking Peeta was dead, in reality he'd camouflaged himself into the bank of the stream in a last ditch attempt to stay alive. I'd found him days later, after learning that he was still alive from Rue. The thing was, he was so caked in mud that I'd had to wash all the mud from his clothes and his skin. If it weren't for a conspicuously placed backpack, Peeta would have been seen by Panem in all his glory.
"Damn it," I mutter, causing Peeta to laugh.
"Hey, you know I'm all yours," he reminds me and I nod, slightly mollified.
"Very true."
"And we actually need to get dressed before our prep teams barge in again."
I groan pathetically, hiding my face in the crook of his neck. "But I actually feel normal this morning," I complain. No nausea, no other pregnancy-related hassles. Well, except for my hormones, which were demanding that I take advantage of Peeta's half-clothed presence.
As if reading my mind, Peeta pulls away from me before I can attack him. "Katniss," he chides with a smile. "Not that I haven't been feeling really appreciated lately, but we've got to get dressed."
A wave of rejection hits me hard. I know that it's my hormones, but I still feel unwanted. "Don't you want me?" I ask, hating how small my voice sounds, but I can't help it.
"You know I do," Peeta reassures me. "All the time."
Now, I'm feeling frustrated, in more ways than one. "Then why won't you have sex with me?"
"Because we don't have enough time," Peeta defends soothingly. "And when I make love to you, I want to be able to take my time and show you just how much I love you. Less than five minutes is not enough time for me."
I huff, trying not to feel the warmth radiating through me at his words. "Fine," I mumble, before getting out of bed. I pull his shirt off over my head and toss it in the corner before beginning my search for clean clothes. Simplicity is best when going to the remake center, so I wear some black sweats.
When I turn around, Peeta is already dressed and sitting on the bed waiting for me. How men seem to dress in three seconds is beyond me. I'm still upset with him, even if I know it's illogical, so I cross my arms over my chest and ignore him. My hand is reaching for the doorknob when a strong arm wraps around my waist.
I face Peeta questioningly, raising an eyebrow. "What—"
Any further thoughts are extinguished as his lips meet mine, and all I can comprehend is that Peeta is kissing me, assuring me that he does want me, and all my previous feelings melt away as I deepen the kiss. My fingers tangle in his hair as I feel my back press against the door. The only reason I break away is because I'm startled by a knock on the door.
"Katniss!" Octavia calls. "We can hear you two!"
"Hopefully you're still dressed!" Flavius adds. "Really, we should be going!"
"Peeta, dear," the pixie girl from Peeta's prep team says. "Really, sweetie, we need you, too."
"Not that we don't love that you two love each other so much," another voice pipes up, one of the men on Peeta's prep team. "Really, it's quite beautiful . . ." he trails off, sniffling.
Peeta and I stare at each other, both of us slightly mortified and amused by the conversation currently taking place. "Are we really that loud?" I whisper, and Peeta smirks.
"Not me," he shakes his head. "You."
I scowl and Peeta kisses me again, however, we quickly part when a voice calls through the door.
"Stop playing grab ass and get out here!"
Heat floods my face as Peeta and I part, reluctantly opening the door and stepping out into the hallway to meet our prep teams and our irritated, slightly drunken mentor. "Morning, Haymitch," Peeta says politely, like nothing is awkward about the situation.
"Get to the remake center," Haymitch snaps, not bothering with pleasantries. "Before I drag you there myself."
Apparently deciding that his paternal duties have been fulfilled, Haymitch takes a swig from his flask and ambles away, going who-knows-where. This leaves Peeta and I standing in the hallway with our prep teams, who are staring at us intently again. I feel self-conscious and run my fingers through my hair, which is loose because for some reason my braid has been giving me a headache lately.
"Oh, Katniss, don't worry," Venia assures me. "It's not your hair that's mussed."
I glance at Peeta, who's looking just a bit more disheveled than me, his hair sticking out in all directions and his t-shirt slightly crinkled. Had I fisted my hands in his shirt? I can't remember . . .
"Um, so can we go now?" I ask, trying to get away from the embarrassment of the situation.
"Oh, yes," Flavius immediately begins to guide me off the train, Venia and Octavia following behind him. I hear Peeta and his prep team following us too. "We're already running a little late."
Once in the remake center, Peeta and I part for the rest of the day, but not before he slips from his prep team's clutches to give me a sweet kiss and promise to see me at the chariot before the parade. This action makes both our prep teams swoon and sniffle.
My beauty routine is so familiar to me that it barely causes me to flinch anymore. I lay on the table as I'm waxed, buffed, polished, plucked, and whatever else they deem necessary. However, this process regains its insufferable nature when my prep team begins to get teary. Apparently, they'd already been feeling awful about mine and Peeta's terrible misfortune about getting thrown into the arena again. Walking in on Peeta and I this morning, with me 'wrapped protectively in his arms' (Octavia's own words), has only increased their sorrow.
I grow annoyed rather quickly, especially when their emotions get the better of them and they have to take a break from beautifying me to blow their nose and carefully pat the tears from their cheeks, so as to not ruin their makeup completely. Each of them break down at least twice, and Octavia seems to keep up a constant whimper.
I spend the entire three hours comforting my prep team. The fact that I'm the one comforting them is the most frustrating thing. If anyone has the right to cry over my misfortune, it's me. After all, my prep team isn't getting thrown back into the arena. They're not pregnant with a child that's doomed the moment President Snow finds out he or she exists. Oh, and they aren't preparing to be a part of a rebellion.
By the time Cinna comes in, my fists are clinched, ready to punch the next person who looks at me with pity. Naturally, Cinna seems to sense this and praises my prep team for their work and then dismisses them. "Damp morning?" he asks knowingly.
"You could wring me out."
Cinna smiles. "I'll talk with them," he promises me.
"You're not going to burst into tears, are you?" I ask. "Because I will kill you."
"Don't worry," Cinna assures me with a small smile. "I always channel my emotions into my work. That way I don't hurt anyone but myself." I don't have time to ponder his statement before he gestures to the sitting area. "How about some lunch?"
Food. Yes, lunch sounds fantastic. "Great."
We sit down to eat and the food is as divine as always. Chicken and rice in a creamy, mushroom sauce. Rolls. Tons of different jewel-colored jellies. But the best part of the meal by far is the desert. Assorted fruit that we dip in a bowl of chocolate. Have I mentioned how much I love chocolate now that I'm pregnant? Pretty soon, I've disregarded the fruit completely and am just eating the stuff with a spoon.
Cinna orders another bowl.
I eat all of that one, too.
"So," I begin as I'm scraping up the last vestiges of the chocolate with my fingers. "What's your brilliant plan for our costumes this year?" Cinna doesn't answer immediately, instead I find myself under the scrutiny of his sharp gaze. "What?" I ask.
"Nothing," Cinna frowns slightly. "You just have this . . . glow about you."
"Okay . . ." I trail off as my heart beats faster. Isn't there something called a pregnancy glow? Oh, crap. If anyone could figure out that I'm pregnant, it would be Cinna. "Um, is that a bad thing?"
"No," Cinna says slowly. "In fact, it will make your costume for the parade even more spectacular."
"Oh, great," I say quickly, before frowning when I realize that there is absolutely no more chocolate left in the bowl. Cinna eyes the two empty chocolate bowls critically and then my two empty plates. Had I really eaten that much?
"Katniss," Cinna begins softly. "Do you have something to tell me?"
Damn. He knows. And honestly, I really want to tell him. Cinna has become one of my closest friends, and he always seems to give the best advice before I even know that I need it. "Maybe," I reply hesitantly, mindful of the listening devices that are no doubt planted in the room.
"I see," he says. "Well, why don't we get your costume on? I think it'll suit you perfectly."
"Of course it will," I return easily. "You designed it."
Cinna's costume for me this year is a seemingly bland black jumpsuit. He places a half crown on my head, like the one I wore as a victor, except this one is coal black instead of shiny gold. As he's adjusting the outfit he makes small talk, and I slowly begin to see where this conversation will lead. My assumptions are proven correct when he brings up the fact that his sister, who I previously hadn't even known existed, recently gave birth to her first child.
"Aw, Uncle Cinna," I tease, causing Cinna to smile.
"It's an amazing thing, bringing a life into the world," he says and my teasing smile falls from my lips, as the severity of our masked conversation sets in. "A very big responsibility."
"Absolutely," I agree seriously. "I'm sure your sister can handle it."
"I believe so," Cinna says, laughing a little before adding, "My nephew was somewhat of a surprise."
Oh, don't I know about surprises. "Well, I'm sure your sister is fully prepared for all that will come."
Cinna and I share a significant glance. "Let's hope," he finally says before immediately focusing his attention on my outfit. "Alright, so let me show you how this works."
He presses a button on the inside of my sleeve and turns me to face the mirror. At first, the suit lights up in a soft yellow glow, but slowly, the colors begin to flicker and swirl and fade. Bright orange and red and white become clearer, the colors casting my face in a powerful glow. My makeup is dark and dramatic, my hair in large ringlets flowing over my shoulders and down my back. The days of pink lipstick and ribbons have passed. I'm no longer a girl. I'm a victor.
Cinna has made me look powerful and commanding. My flames from last year have flickered out. This year I'm a coal, a glowing ember. I'm fire itself. I'm dangerous.
"Wow," I breathe. "Cinna, this is amazing! How did you do this?"
"Portia and I spent a lot of time staring at fires," Cinna replies with a smile, before pressing the button on the inside of my wrist. My costume returns to its deceptively bland look. "Let's not run down your power pack." He brushes away some imaginary dust on my shoulder. "When you're on the chariot this time, no waving, no smiling. I just want you to look straight ahead, as if the entire audience is beneath your notice."
I smile. "Finally, something I'm good at."
Cinna returns my smile and kisses my forehead. "Be careful," he says softly, and I know he's referring to the baby.
"Always am," I reply, and Cinna nods, though I wonder whether I've reassured him at all. These days, I have enough of a time reassuring myself.
Cinna leaves, having other things to attend to, and I make to follow him, but seeing my reflection in the mirror causes me to pause. Cinna notices my hesitation, but doesn't comment, instead giving me the solitude that I need, and shutting the door on his way out. I stare at myself in the mirror, taking in my dramatic, dark makeup and my tastefully curled hair. As usual, I hardly recognize myself, but at the same time I do. Cinna seems to be able to recreate different aspects of my personality into my wardrobe. My innocent days are long gone. No more filly frocks and pink and ribbons. Now, I'm powerful and deadly and everyone knows it.
But that's not why I'm staring at myself in the mirror. I'm staring because I'm trying to see any sign that I'm pregnant. Contrary to what Cinna said, I don't see any special glow about me. My hands find my stomach, still as flat as ever. No one will know, no one will realize my secret. Only Peeta, Prim, and Haymitch know. But still, my fear is that I'll walk into the bottom level of the Remake Center and immediately, every single tribute will know that I'm pregnant.
I close my eyes and take a deep breath. No one will notice. There is absolutely no visible sign that I'm pregnant. None. I still look the same . . . for now at least.
Come on, Katniss. I chide myself. Get a grip.
When I reach the ground floor of the Remake Center, I have to take a moment to process the scene. Whereas last year, all the tributes were strictly confined to their chariot, this year it's almost like a family reunion, with the tributes and their mentors mingling and socializing. Of course, I don't know a single tribute, and socializing is Peeta's realm, so I make my way to our chariot and begin to stroke the neck of one of our horses.
Just as I'm beginning to think that no one noticed my appearance, I hear someone coming up behind me. I turn to face the new arrival and find myself staring into the startlingly beautiful sea green eyes of Finnick Odair. He's tall, athletic, and muscled with perfectly tanned skin and a blindingly white smile. Messy bronze hair threatens to hang in his eyes as he leans casually against my horse, his startling eyes mere inches from mine.
"Hello Katniss," he says with great familiarity, like we've known each other forever, when in fact we've never met.
Nonetheless, I give him a small smile and say, "Hello Finnick." After all, we're allies, right? Haymitch told Peeta and I before the reaping that everyone had been informed about us knowing the plan to escape the arena.
"Want a sugar cube?" he asks, leaning even further toward me, making me supremely uncomfortable considering the amount of Finnick's bare skin that is exposed. He's draped in a golden net, strategically knotted at his groin so that he's not completely nude. I guess his stylists assume that the more exposed Finnick is the better.
I resist the urge to take a step back, refusing to show any weakness. Finnick smiles, as if to reassure me. "They're supposed to be for the horses, but who cares? They've got years to eat sugar, whereas you and me, well, if we see something sweet, we better grab it while we can."
Is there some secret message in that? I have no clue.
I think of what I know of Finnick Odair. Winning the Sixty-fifth Hunger Games at the age of fourteen makes him one of the youngest victors. Since he's from District 4, the odds were already in his favor because he was a Career, but no one could take credit for his amazing good looks. Well, except his parents, I guess. Anyway, while other tributes were hard pressed to get anything in the arena, Finnick never wanted for anything. Food. Water. Medicine. Anything Finnick wanted, he got. However, when a silver parachute dropped from the sky, carrying a trident, the Games were over. District 4's industry is fishing, so Finnick had been in the water and on ships his whole life. The trident became an extension of his arm, and within days the Games were over, Finnick trapping his enemies in woven nets and then spearing them.
Finnick killed and looked good doing it—the Capitol has loved him ever since.
It wasn't until he turned sixteen that everyone's love was able to come to fruition. Since then, Finnick has spent his time in the Capitol being dogged by those desperately in love with him. I've seen five different girls on his arm in one week. Some are pretty, some aren't. Some are young, and some are older. It doesn't seem to matter.
Finnick is stunning, I can't deny that. But I can say with total honesty that he's not my type. He isn't six feet tall with curly blonde hair that hangs over his forehead and blue eyes like a summer sky. He doesn't radiate a gentle, yet protective warmth. He doesn't make my heart beat faster with just one look. In other words, he's not Peeta.
"No, thanks," I say to the sugar.
This doesn't seem to faze Finnick. He simply takes a good, long look at my outfit, his gaze lingering suggestively in all the right places. I imagine most girls would be nearly squealing in their attempt to contain their excitement. Me? I'm wondering if I'm going to punch him in the face.
"You're absolutely terrifying me in that getup," he shivers. "What happened to the pretty little-girl dresses?" He subtly runs his tongue over his bottom lip, and I'm beginning to wonder if he's trying to make me uncomfortable on purpose.
"I outgrew them," I answer simply.
Finnick's fingers trace the collar of my outfit. "It's too bad about this Quell thing. You could have made out like a bandit in the Capitol. Jewels, money, anything you wanted."
I resist rolling my eyes, barely. "I don't like jewels," I tell him, exasperation leaking into my voice. Where is Peeta? "I have more money than I need. What do you spend all yours on, anyway, Finnick?"
"Oh, I haven't dealt with anything as common as money in years," he answers.
"Then how do they pay for the pleasure of your company?"
"With secrets."
Finnick's voice has dropped to a low whisper, and he tilts his head toward me so that his lips are almost in contact with mine. "What about you, girl on fire? Do you have any secrets worth my time?"
Again, I wonder if Finnick is trying to portray some sort of secret message to me. Secrets? What does he want me to say? I plan on helping overthrow the Capitol with District 13? Fat chance of me saying that here. Although, I suppose I could also tell him that I'm pregnant, secretly married to Peeta, and that I sincerely wish that said secret husband were here so he could punch Finnick in his pretty face. Wow, these hormones are really bringing out my violent tendencies . . .
"No, I'm an open book," I answer in a whisper. Almost as if sensing his presence, I look over Finnick's shoulder to see Peeta striding toward us. Yes! "Peeta's coming," I tell Finnick as I take a step away from him.
"Oh, can't have people thinking a scandal is brewing," Finnick jokes as he takes a step back, too. "Sorry about your wedding, though," he adds, a glint entering his eye that I haven't seen before, something that hints that there is much more to Finnick Odair than meets the eye. "I know how devastating that must be for you."
Okay, now I know Finnick at least knows something about mine and Peeta's situation. I wonder if he knows about the marriage, or even the baby. I don't know exactly how much information Haymitch shared. Surely he had to give a reason as to why he disobeyed orders and told Peeta and I of the rebellion and District 13.
Before I can say anything, Finnick turns and leaves, giving Peeta a cheery wave as he passes. Peeta's at my side in the next second. "What did Finnick Odair want?" he asks, and I smile as I detect a hint of protectiveness in his tone . . . and maybe just a little jealousy?
I press myself up against him, putting my lips just a breath away from his, and drop my eyelids, mimicking Finnick. "He offered me sugar and wanted to know all my secrets," I whisper in my best seductive voice.
Peeta's hands slide down my back before settling on my hips. He smiles, "And what did you say?" he asks, his lips brushing mine.
"Oh, I'm an open book," I repeat my answer that I gave to Finnick and Peeta chuckles before his lips meet mine briefly.
"That's very true," he admits. "Did he say anything else?"
"He's very sorry our wedding is canceled," I say lightly, though with my eyes I try and convey that this part of the conversation was not so innocent. "I think he's sorry he missed it, or is going to anyway."
Peeta's eyes narrow in understanding. Finnick knows about us.
We're pulled out of our little bubble when the music begins to play. Peeta steps up to the chariot and offers me a hand, pulling me up beside him. Our hands stay clasped as we wait to be lead out of the tunnel. "Have you seen your suit turned on?" I ask as we wait for our chariot to move. "We're going to be fabulous again."
"Yeah, but we're supposed to be very above it all this year," Peeta says. "No waving or anything."
"Where are they anyway?" I wonder aloud as I look around. Last year, Cinna and Portia were at our sides until the very last second. This year they're nowhere to be found.
"I don't know," Peeta shrugs. "Maybe we should switch ourselves on."
I press the button on the inside of my sleeve and watch as my suit slowly glows to life, morphing into the ever-swirling colors of a bright, hot ember. Our outfits draw the attention of the other tributes, and since we're almost at the doors some people in the crowd are already pointing at us. Peeta and I are going to be the stars of opening ceremonies once again.
My hand tightens around Peeta's as our chariot begins to move, my stomach finally knotting in the nerves that I've been waiting to feel. I focus on the feel of Peeta's hand in mine, strong and warm, and feel my nerves diminish slightly. The crowd's screams turn chaotic when Peeta and I fully emerge from the tunnel of the Remake Center. They're shouting at us, blowing us kisses and waving, but Peeta and I ignore them completely.
I choose a point far in front of us and focus my gaze on it, like I'm hoping it will burst into flames. As we pass a large television, I catch a glimpse of us. We're just as beautiful and dazzling as we were last year, but this year there's an aura of darkness and power emanating from us. Our posture is stiff and commanding, our eyes are glowering in anger. We're unforgiving.
It doesn't take long for these feelings to consume me, and by the time our chariot stops in the City Circle, I'm seething. All of the hate I feel for Snow and the Capitol has seemed to meld into one ferocious feeling of loathing. All I can think about is how Snow came into my home before the Victory Tour, threatening not only my life and Peeta's, but our families as well. I think of how he's haunted my dreams, plaguing me with imaginings of my worst fears. I think of how I've been the Capitol's puppet, a mere source of entertainment. Most of all, I think of how my choices have been stolen from me, my freedom. I have no choice but to go into the arena, reliving my worst nightmare once again. And this time, I won't be going in alone. My unborn child, currently safe within my womb, will be with me.
I have every reason to be unforgiving.
As the sky darkens, mine and Peeta's costumes draw more and more attention. Even the tributes have a hard time looking away, particularly the tributes from District 6, who are known morphling addicts, their faces yellow and sunken, both of them bone thin. I swear even President Snow is fixated on me after he finishes delivering his speech. When his gaze meets mine, I glare at him for all that I'm worth, and the phrase, 'if looks could kill' runs through my mind.
Wishful thinking.
Peeta and I don't relax until the doors of the Training Center are closed. Cinna and Portia are there to greet us and congratulate us on our performance. Haymitch is present, unlike last year, except he's not at our chariot. Instead, he's talking with the tributes from District 11. He nods at us when our gazes lock, and then begins to make his way over to us, gesturing for his friends to follow.
I recognize Chaff easily. Aside from the fact that I've watched him and Haymitch pass a bottle back and forth for years during the Games, Chaff has a rather distinctive look. One of his arms ends in a stump, having lost his hand in his Games. I'm sure the Capitol probably offered him a prosthetic, but apparently Chaff decided against it. He's a big man, dark skinned and brown eyed, and judging by his slightly dazed look, just a little drunk. Apparently, he doesn't hold his alcohol as well as Haymitch.
My attention focuses on Chaff's district partner, Seeder. With her olive skin and straight black hair that is streaked with silver, she could easily pass as being from the Seam if only her eyes were grey instead of a warm, golden brown. Honestly, she must be around sixty, but you wouldn't know it just by looking at her. Seeder still looks as strong as ever. Before anyone says a word, Seeder embraces me in a tight hug, and somehow I know intuitively that it's because of Rue and Thresh. I can't stop myself from whispering, "The families?"
"Safe," she assures me quietly before letting me go, and a huge weight is lifted off my chest. Ever since the disastrous, rebel-inducing speech I gave on District 11's stop during the Victory Tour, I had been worrying about the repercussions that Rue and Thresh's family might face. Sometimes, I'll still see the old man with a red shirt and overalls led up the stage and shot in a nightmare.
While Seeder's greeting was a little surprising, Chaff's greeting blows hers out of the water when he throws an arm around me and gives me a solid kiss on the mouth. I'm so startled that I only have the thought to step away from him, instead of kicking him where the sun doesn't shine. Chaff and Haymitch are howling with laughter, and even Peeta looks like he's fighting a smile. Frankly, that annoys me more than anything. He's supposed to be jealous or overprotective or something. Hell, he's supposed to be just as pissed as I am!
I don't have time to give him a piece of my mind, though, because the Capitol attendants begin directing us firmly toward the elevators. It's obvious that they're not too thrilled with the blatant showing of camaraderie between the victors, who really don't seem to care. We're walking to the elevators, Peeta's fingers still twined with mine, when another person rushes up to my other side.
She's short, even shorter than me, and has spiky hair and big brown eyes. Johanna Mason from District 7, another one of my supposed allies according to Haymitch. Honestly, I'm more wary of Johanna than I am of Finnick. Johanna Mason won her Games by brilliantly portraying herself as a weakling, causing the other tributes to ignore her. When the Games began to wind down, she morphed into a vicious killer. I'd never seen anyone wield an ax quite like Johanna Mason.
She tosses off her leafy headdress, not bothering to see where it falls, and stands next to us as we wait for the elevator. "Isn't my costume awful?" she complains. "My stylist is the biggest idiot in the Capitol. Our tributes have been trees for forty years under her. Wish I'd gotten Cinna. You look fantastic."
Oh, great. Girl talk. I hate girl talk. It is not my forte. I barely managed with Prim that one time. Girl talk involves clothes, makeup, hair, and boys. I scramble for anything appropriate to say. "Yeah, he's been helping me design my own clothing line. You should see what he can do with velvet." Seriously, velvet? That's the best I can come up with?
"I have," Johanna replies. "On your tour. That strapless number you wore in District 2? The deep blue one with the diamonds? So gorgeous. I wanted to reach through the screen and tear it right off your back."
I bet you did, I think dryly.
We're still waiting for the elevators, and Johanna decides to use the available time to unzip her costume and let it pool at her feet, leaving her wearing nothing but a pair of green slippers. "That's better," she sighs.
The elevator arrives then, and we all file in. Johanna spends the entire ride talking to Peeta about his paintings, even going as far as to ask if he does any nude paintings, and if so, she'll gladly pose for him. I find this part of the conversation ironic, considering that the glow from Peeta's costume is reflecting off her bare breasts.
My teeth clench, and I am immensely grateful when Johanna steps off the elevator. I ignore Peeta completely, though my hand has been slowly tightening around his in my frustration. I know that Peeta's grinning, I just know it. He thinks this is funny.
The moment the doors close, Peeta begins to laugh. "What?" I ask, yanking my hand away from his so I can cross my arms over my chest.
"It's you, Katniss," Peeta tries to explain. "Can't you see?"
I resist growling. "What's me?"
"Why they're all acting like this. Finnick with his sugar cubes and Chaff kissing you and that whole thing with Johanna stripping down . . ." Peeta tries to contain his smile, but he just can't quite manage it. "They're playing with you because you're so . . . you know."
"No," I scowl. "I don't know."
"It's like when you wouldn't look at me naked in the arena, even though I was half dead," Peeta tries to explain again. "You're so . . . pure."
"I am not!" I advance on him until his back hits the wall of the elevator. "I have practically been ripping your clothes off for the past month, and in case you forgot, I'm carrying your child!" I hiss so quietly that no microphone could possibly pick me up.
Peeta's eyes lose their amusement, his expression becoming serious. "I could never forget that," he tells me softly, his hands gently cupping my face as he places a tender kiss on my forehead. "But to the Capitol, Katniss, you're pure. For me, you're perfect," he adds with a smile, and I'm mollified a bit.
"I'm still mad at you," I tell him, despite the fact that my arms have wound their way around his waist, and my head is resting against his chest.
"And why is that?" Peeta asks.
"Because you didn't punch Chaff when he kissed me," I tell him honestly, causing Peeta to chuckle.
"Seriously!" I insist. "Did that not bother you at all?"
"Okay, it bothered me a little," Peeta admits, but he's still smiling. "But do you really want me to be that overprotective? Punching every guy that touches you?"
"No," I say slowly. "But you could have . . . I don't know . . . glared menacingly."
"It's hard for me to be menacing," Peeta says, and when I look up into his blue eyes that no amount of dramatic makeup and make truly deadly, I realize the truth of that statement. The only time I've ever seen anything even remotely close to menacing or deadly in Peeta's eyes is when I'm threatened, but that's a side of Peeta that I rarely see.
"You know what?" I say. "I think I like you just the way you are."
"Brilliant," Peeta grins before giving me a kiss, which I'm sure would have lasted longer if it weren't for the sound of the elevator doors opening.
Haymitch and Effie come to greet us, and I'm just about to say something when I see Haymitch's gaze harden. He's staring at something behind me, so I turn to see what has caused the tension. Effie notices Haymitch's gaze as well, and says, "Oh, it looks like they got you a matched set this year."
I see the redheaded Avox girl that waited on us last year, and beside her is another redhead, a man. That must be what Effie meant by a 'matched set.' However, when I get a better look at the new Avox, my stomach drops as I remember the last time I saw him. Lying on the ground unconscious after trying to save a bleeding Gale . . .
Our new Avox is Darius.
Well, we've now briefly met Johanna and Finnick. Don't worry, next chapter has a whole lot more interaction between tributes!
Also, this is the last chapter where I will give you a quote from the next chapter of the story! Starting next chapter, the quotes will come from Mockingjay! Be excited, I sure am.
Quote from the next chapter comes from . . . Finnick!
"We're not friends anymore, Katniss!"
Lots of love,
AC
