Two

The rules are that mentors are allowed to watch the training either before or after the tributes have lunch but not both times. Half the day is meant for networking with possible sponsors. I go to watch training for the morning. I can't face the Capitol yet, so I go into the basement of the Training Center and slump into a chair beside Haymitch.

It earns me odd looks from Cashmere, Gloss, and Brutus but I don't care.

"How you holding up, Pretty Boy?" Haymitch asks as we both stare out the one-way glass that faces the floor where most of the tributes are tentatively trying to figure out what to do.

There's something comforting about the fact that he's gone back to the nickname and I mash my hands over my face to hide it. "I cried on my tribute before I brought her down here," I mutter under my breath. "I'd say I'm holding up just fine."

He coughs and slouches low in his chair, mirroring my position. "I'm sorry. I must be really drunk or I'm going deaf. I could swear you just said you cried on your tribute."

"Not one of my finer moments." I shouldn't have told him. I can see that now. Then again, he hasn't burst into laughter so there is a bright side.

"I wouldn't think so," he says in a low voice. "Which tribute is yours?" When I tell him it's Annie, he sighs. "She in love with you? That why she didn't smack you when you cried on her?"

I hadn't considered that. But I know the answer just the same. "No. At least I don't think she is. Back home she would cross the street if I was walking where she was. I didn't flirt with her either, before you ask. I don't flirt with anyone back home. Ever."

He holds up his hands. "I didn't say a word, Pretty Boy. And don't think I don't feel for you. I do. I know what you do here and I know what Mags means to you. Now I know that you're going to care about your tribute and it is going to hurt a thousand times worse when she dies. I don't envy you, I wouldn't want to be you, but I'm here if you need a friend."

The fact that Haymitch Abernathy has almost reduced me to tears is a sad fact in and of itself.

I mash my hands against my face again and lean forward. "Think like a mentor and try to forget it all matters, right?" The flask appearances in front of me and I take it, swallowing half of the foul liquid that must come from District Twelve. I choke and hand the flask back to him. "What is that?"

He caps it and pats me on the back. "Called white liquor now, but it used to be called white lightning. Can make you go blind."

I cough again and wipe the back of my hand over my mouth. "Good name."

He grunts in agreement. "Anyway, yeah, you got to think like a mentor and try to forget it all matters. It's the only way to get through this. They're called the Hunger Games, let them be games. Games don't mean as much as real life. Try to convince yourself of that." He pats my shoulder and gets to his feet, leaving me on my own.

I move to the front of the room to lean against the wall by the edge of the glass so I can see what my tribute is doing. I told her on the elevator ride down to focus on what her weakness are - physical conflict in close quarters. She's doing it to, practicing hand-to-hand combat with the instructor. She's too tentative. Some mentors would probably want her to stop so she wouldn't show weakness but I think it's more important that she spend the three days learning as much as she possibly can.

"Does she have any strengths?" Lyme asks, coming to stand beside me.

This is the hardest part of mentoring, harder even than selling a tribute to a sponsor. If I make her sound too strong, she'll seem like a threat and be killed as early as possible. If I make her seem too weak, she'll be left out of alliances and be killed fairly early. It's a delicate balance, one Mags usually handles for me. At least it's Lyme, though. I can talk to her better than I could have Cashmere or Enobaria.

"Distance weapons," I reply, keeping it both vague and specific - it's true that they're her strength but Lyme doesn't need to know I think she'll lose it if she has to throw a weapon at another human being. "Top marks in training for them, first in her group."

"Does she want in the Career Pack?"

I glance around, noticing Cashmere and Gloss whispering and gesturing toward both the District Four tributes. And I see the girl tribute from One watching Annie with obvious skepticism. The Career Pack might not be best for Annie, it might go against everything I'm guessing she cares about, but it's also her best shot at making it. "Can you sell Cashmere on it?"

"You've got a better chance at convincing Cashmere than I do. Brutus and I want your tributes. I'll tell Gloss and Cashmere both kids from Four are part of the pack or One is on their own. If you think your tributes want an alliance with mine that badly."

I lean my forehead against the glass and will Mags' spirit to speak to me, even though she's not dead. Knowing what she would say will guide me. "Muscida should be here this afternoon. Let's not make any threats until she's involved." It's a cop-out, no doubt, but I can't help it. "Okay?"

She nods. "Okay, Odair. We'll talk tomorrow morning. If you go see Mags tonight, give her my best?" And she's gone before I can respond.

When the morning session is over I go back to the fourth floor and shower, finally washing Katrina off my body. Then it's time to make someone care about Annie enough to buy her something if she survives the Cornucopia. Thankfully, mercifully, Muscida has arrived by the time I get out of the shower. I fill her in on what Lyme said and what I know about Reef. She's going to watch him for the afternoon so I'll be meeting people on my own.

It's alright. Sticking close to Mags is one thing but following Muscida would just raise suspicions more than they need to be.

My stylist left the usual loose white shirt - better to show of my tanned skin - with conveniently missing buttons and ridiculously tight pants - green this time, no doubt to match my eyes - so I get dressed and run my fingers through my wet hair. The upside of it all is that they trust me to dress myself and they've decided my hair looks better "wind blown" so I get to style it myself with my fingers. I hardly ever have to see anyone intent on dressing me anymore. I like it this way. Even if it is because the people who really matter just want to take my clothes off.

When I get to the garden party at President Snow's mansion, I make a beeline for Katrina. Her husband is one of the Gamemakers so he won't be around and I was told she would like my company until the Games officially begin. There aren't any rules banning families of Gamemakers from sponsoring tributes so I figure she's the best place to start trying to help Annie.

"You really like this girl," she says after I talk Annie up over the girls from One and Two. "Why?"

"She reminds me of you," I lie blatantly. I learned long ago that the more idiotic a lie sounds to me, the more the Capitol will buy it. I lean on the back of the stool she's perched on, neon colored feathers from her dress poking me, and sort of drape myself over her. "You worry about what your husband will think if he finds out what we do when we're not in public. You worry about whether the Avoxes in your building have enough soap so you won't smell them. You're a very kind, considerate person. Annie Cresta is that way too. Do you think it's high time someone like you came out of the arena a victor?"

Stroking egos works as well as bold-faced lies. It's obvious she bought every word I said, even the thinly veiled insult about the soap for the Avoxes. "Alright, Finnick," she purrs, leaning up to me, "you've convinced me. Call me when there's something I could sponsor that'd be useful for her."

I nuzzle my face into her neck, thankful I'm not between her legs again. "You promise, Katrina? I'd be very sad if you didn't follow through."

She makes a sort of purring sound again and sighs. "I won't let you down, Finnick. And I never break my word about the Hunger Games."