Thank you for reading and for all of your comments, I read them all and appreciate every single one of them. I know those that are regular readers have been waiting for this chapter, I hope it doesn't disappoint! Here we go!

I do not own the Hunger Games nor its characters

Chapter Thirty-Six

I start the day with a drink, well, several. Today is the day that I meet my forty-fifth and forty-sixth tributes and I have no intention of remembering them. Ever since Chester died I've blotted out the Games with as much drink as I can and, thankfully, I can only remember bits. Sometimes faces will come to me at night, often accompanied by their bloody deaths but I'm finding it more difficult to remember names these days.

Effie has already been around to tell me that I'm late but she quickly left once she got a whiff of my odour. Even I would be repulsed with myself if I actually cared about anything.

I stumble out of the house and can see the huge crowd that has gathered in the square; I rarely venture out these days and only then it's to buy booze so the daylight hurts my eyes a little. By the time I reach the side of the stage Mayor Undersee is already at the end of the speech and reading the names of previous victors.

"That's me!" I slur and stumble on to the stage. The crowd claps unenthusiastically and Effie simply turns her nose up at me so I wrap my arms around her and force her in to a hug. I know she hates this, which makes it all the more worthwhile as she pushes me away and approaches the microphone.

"Happy Hunger Games!" She screeches, her pink wig slightly off centre. "And may the odds be ever in your favour! Before we begin I'd just like to say what a…privilege it is to be here once again," she gives an uncomfortable smile to the cameras before turning back to the mic. "Ladies first!"

She places her hand in the girls' reaping bowl and moves her hand around, torturing all of the children stood before her. She finally pulls out a slip of paper and clears her throat. "Primrose Everdeen!" She shouts.

I'm barely listening but I recognise the surname, of course I do. I look in to the crowd to see a thin girl who looks about ten approaching the stage, tucking in her blouse as she does so. Before I can even begin to feel sickened by the whole thing I hear a shout from the back and a girl with dark brown hair is pushing through the crowds.

"Prim!" She shouts, "Prim!" She runs up to the girl and pushes her behind her, protectively, and it's then that I recognise Cliff Everdeen's eldest daughter. The girl who collected that medal of valour four years ago, the girl I occasionally see in The Hob with a permanent scowl on her face. "I volunteer!" She says, "I volunteer as tribute!"

Effie looks around in confusion, unsure of what to do. I've never had a volunteer during my time as a mentor and I can't ever remember seeing one as a child. People just do not volunteer for the Games in 12, I suppose I have to share some of that blame. This girl has definitely got my attention, I doubt I'm ever going to forget her. Although, her name eludes me right now.

"Lovely," says Effie before reciting the protocol but, to the Mayor's credit, he just dismisses her and tells the girl to come forward.

The little girl is screaming, clinging to her sister but a tall boy comes forth and takes her away, he says something to her but I can't hear. I think I've seen him in The Hob, too.

"Well, bravo!" Says Effie as the girl climbs the stage. "That's the spirit of the Games!" Oh, shut up, Effie! "What's your name?"

"Katniss Everdeen," says the girl.

"I bet my buttons that was your sister. Don't want her to steal all the glory, do we? Come on, everybody! Let's give a big round of applause to our newest tribute!"

No one claps, they just stare. I'm not sure if it's because I'm drunk and possibly hallucinating or if it is actually happening but everyone seems to be placing three fingers on their mouth and then holding them out to Katniss. They're all saying goodbye. They're saying goodbye to someone they respect. Jeez, this girl must have some sort of spell over the entire district.

"Look at her. Look at this one!" I shout, stumbling towards her and placing an arm around her. "I like her!" I really do, she's showing compassion, not the malice and hate that the Capitol promotes. "Lots of…" What's the word? It's on the tip of my tongue. "Spunk!" I finally shout, "More than you!" I shout at no one in particular, before realising where all this sudden anger is coming from and who it's meant for. "More than you!" I shout at the camera at the end of the stage, losing my footing as I do so. The last thing I see before I black out is the stunned look on the faces of my district.

I wake up in one of the posh chambers on the Capitol train, unsure of how I got here. Then I remember. The Reaping, the girl, my drunken display. I should be disgusted with myself but I don't care, all I can think about is the booze that is on board somewhere. I get up and stagger down the corridor, unsure of which door I need to be looking for. My brain really has had a break these last few years.

I fall through a door to my right to find a young boy sitting on the bed, his head in his hands. This must be the boy tribute, I blacked out before I got to see his name being called. He looks up and wipes his hands over his eyes. I can't deal with the ones that cry all the time.

"This isn't where the booze is," I say and I can tell that I'm slurring.

"No," he says.

"What's your name, kid?" I ask, it seems polite after I've stumbled onto such a private moment.

"Peeta Mellark."

"Mellark!" I shout, "That's the baker's name!"

He nods, "I'm his youngest son."

"Ahh, I can see it, now," I say, starting to recognise the features beneath his blotchy skin. I wonder if he knows that his dad was desperate to marry Clara only for her to ditch him for Cliff. Does he know the connection he shares with Katniss?

That's when it hits me. Clara's daughter. I'm meant to keep her alive.

"I'm going for a nap," I groan before I can get even more lost in my thoughts. I go back to my room, order some white liquor and then pass out.

It's dark when I wake up and I can hear my stomach rumbling so I attempt to find the dining cart, again. I stagger in to find Katniss, Peeta and Effie sitting on the sofas.

"I miss supper?" I ask before throwing up all over the floor. That's what you get for drinking on an empty stomach, I suppose.

Effie screeches something before tottering out of the room and before I know it Peeta is holding one of my arms whilst Katniss grabs the other.

"I tripped? Smells bad."

"Let's get you back to your room," says Peeta, "Clean you up a bit."

They both drag me to my room and somehow manage to place me in the bathtub before switching on the water. They then argue for a bit over who should look after me before Katniss finally leaves. Even in my drunken state I can tell that a million thoughts are going through her head. Who she should trust, who she shouldn't.

"Arms up," says Peeta and I do as he says. I'm not entirely sure what's going on now, to be honest. He sighs, "She's never going to get home if you're our only chance."

The next morning I'm feeling a little more sober and know that if I don't get any food in to me soon I'm going to pass out, again. When I arrive, Effie and Peeta are already eating and making idle chit chat. I sit down and pile my plate high before ordering a cup of hot chocolate and dipping bits of bread roll in to it. Ever since I was reaped I've found this drink to be oddly comforting on the train ride to the Capitol, apart from the white liquor, of course. Speaking of which, a Bloody Mary would be perfect right now.

I notice that Peeta is staring at me so I ask one of the attendants to bring him a mug. I have some recollection of what he did for me last night and the sense of despair he felt.

"It's called hot chocolate," I say, remembering when Titam introduced it to me all those years ago. Peeta quickly drains the mug and orders another.

I hear footsteps and see that Katniss is standing in the doorway. "Sit down! Sit down!" I shout, to which she scowls but obliges and quickly stuffs her face full of food.

Peeta tells her about the hot chocolate and there's something in his eyes that unnerves me. I'm not sure what it is. It's not anger or hatred, it's something else I can't quite place. Helplessness.

"So, you're supposed to give us advice," Katniss finally says.

"Here's some advice," I snap, "Stay alive!" I can't help but laugh, surely they must know by now that I'm of no help at all. They've grown up with the Games, they know that 12 is hopeless. They know that I'm hopeless.

"That's very funny," says Peeta and smashes the glass I'm holding out of my hand. "Only not to us."

Rage overcomes me before I can think and suddenly I'm standing up and punching Peeta in the jaw. Who does this kid think he is?! I turn around to grab another drink but a knife slams in to the table and when I look up I can see that Katniss is responsible. I'm stunned. I've had angry tributes before but none that potentially had the skills to harness that anger to make them viable contenders.

"Well, what's this? Did I actually get a pair of fighters this year?" Peeta grabs some ice from the fruit tureen but I stop his arm, "No. Let the bruise show. The audience will think you've mixed it up with another tribute before you've even made it to the arena."

"That's against the rules," says Peeta.

"Only if they catch you. That bruise will say you fought, you weren't caught, even better." I turn to Katniss, I know I shouldn't get excited, every time I do my tribute still dies. But these two… "Can you hit anything with that knife besides a table?" She grabs the knife and throws it at the wall, securing it between two planks of wood. She can actually use a knife! "Stand over here. Both of you," I say, nodding to the middle of the room. I walk around them, seeing how fit they are and if the Capitolites will like the look of them. "Well, you're not entirely hopeless. Seem fit. And once the stylists get hold of you, you'll be attractive enough." As much as I despise them, the stylists know the Capitol's tastes better than anyone.

"All right, I'll make a deal with you. You don't interfere with my drinking, and I'll stay sober enough to help you. But you have to do exactly what I say."

They both agree and Katniss starts wittering on about strategy and the Cornucopia but I have to cut her off before she gets ahead of herself.

"In a few minutes, we'll be pulling into the station. You'll be put in the hands of your stylists. You're not going to like what they do to you," I can already tell that Katniss isn't a fan of being told what to do or say, "But no matter what it is, don't resist."

"But-" she says, predictably.

"No buts. Don't resist." I grab a bottle of booze from the table and head back in to my room because my head is spinning. I've given these kids hope and I know how dangerous that is. I've made them a promise and I don't know if I can keep it.