Chapter 16: Eye of the Storm
I remember everyone's surprise last year when Peeta walked towards the Career camp and asked for an alliance. Most people were dumbstruck or angry, wondering how he could betray Katniss after everything he said. A few minutes in though, it didn't really take a genius to figure out what his plan was-⎯or maybe it was just because I used to see the way he would pine after her when we left school or when she came into town. Either way, it was clear that he was there to protect her. I remember thinking he was crazy, risking his life like that when it could have gotten them both killed. How could he be so reckless?
But now I have a whole new understanding of what was going on in his head and a whole new appreciation for his courage. Now I'd recognize the fear on his face, the way he paled, his cautious steps. He was terrified of them, as he should have been. Yet, he willingly worked with them because it was Katniss' best chance at survival.
I recognize it all now because that's exactly how I feel when the doors slide open, and I spot Cato at the far end of the room. He's leaning against the wall, looking thoroughly menacing. My heart thuds uncomfortably, and my limbs suddenly feel too heavy to move. I'm not much different than Peeta was a year ago, willingly offering myself up to work with a Career. The only difference is that the thing I'm fighting for is my own life, not someone else's. It's not as noble, but it's a pretty good incentive. But it doesn't make the trek towards Cato any easier, especially not when half the room turns to stare at me. It's not so different from how it will be in the arena, I think, because all of Panem will have their eyes on me then-⎯on us.
Obviously sleeping on what happened last night didn't have the same effect on Cato as it did on me. He's practically staring me down from across the room, like all of his problems would be solved if only I suddenly dropped dead. Anger flares up inside me, my movements becoming quicker. I don't know if he hates me or if he's just that condescending, but either way, he has no right. If I can put my hatred for his brother aside, he can get over whatever problems he has with me.
I can still feel people watching as I stride across the room. I wonder if their mentors told them not worry about us because we're going to have enough problems on our own. Maybe they're expecting me to attack now, or him to attack me. He does seem to have anger problems, so the odds of them having to pull him away from me are probably pretty high. I scan the room to see if any officials are nearby and sigh in relief when I spot a few.
Despite my own uncertainty, I don't plan on showing anyone else that we have issues. I raise my chin up and pull a small smirk onto my lips, walking the last few feet to Cato as confidently as I can manage. He raises an eyebrow when I stop in front of him, but I keep the smirk firmly in place.
"What's with the smirk?" he asks dryly.
I roll my eyes because, really, Cato is the last person who should be questioning the expression. Besides glaring, it's the only the look I think he knows.
"People were staring," I say. "Figured I give them something to look at. Better to let them think that both of us are happy about this."
He looks unimpressed by my explanation, not that I care all that much. As long as his opinion doesn't make him kill me, I couldn't care less what he thinks.
We fall into silence, staring at each other. The shock of his name being called at the announcement made it difficult to realize, but standing next to him now, I'm very aware of just how large he is. And how small I am. He could crush me. The thought makes the silence worse. With it comes an oppressive sort of tension as I'm once again hit with the realization that this is going to be my life for the next few weeks. If I last that long. That night on the roof feels like a lifetime ago, and yet, I feel like I'm still there as I try not to flinch under his gaze. I know it's something I'm going to struggle with in the arena. I'm never going to trust him. It's just not possible. But still, I told Haymitch that I would try to work with Cato, and I intend to do just that, because as much as I don't like him, I'm not stupid enough to ignore how useful he could be in the arena.
I'm really starting to hate that word.
I clear my throat awkwardly and say, "Right, so… what did you have in mind? For today, I mean… What do you want to work on?" I gesture around the room and try not to wince at how pathetic I sound.
He chuckles condescendingly, and my eyes immediately narrow, but he seems unbothered. "You're asking me that, Twelve? I'm not the one who needs training here."
"I'm just trying to work out a game plan," I bite out.
"Well, we don't have nearly enough time to cover all of things you need to fix before we go into the arena," he replies.
My jaw clenches tightly at his words. "Great. So I guess we'll just stand here all day since there's nothing we can do to save me. It's not like I've managed to survive an arena or anything," I say sarcastically. I don't really mean to say any of it out loud, much like that night on the roof, but Cato seems to have a way getting under my skin, and I can't help but fight back.
He pushes off the wall and takes a step towards me. Invading personal space must be a Career thing. Maybe they teach it at the academy.
"Most of that was luck. If you were against anyone half decent and didn't have the weather to save you, you'd be dead right now."
My stomach clenches tightly and something jolts up my spine. I want to argue, but part of me knows that he's right, so I keep my mouth shut as he continues talking.
"Your knife skills are poor, and you get tossed around in hand-to-hand combat too easily. You're fast, I'll give you that, but that's not enough to keep you alive until the end. It's not enough for you to win. You can't outrun everything."
Heat licks at my insides as the words spill from his mouth, even though the pit in my stomach is evidence of my own doubt. Not that I'd ever admit its existence to him.
"Half decent? Yeah, I only faced off with a muttation and some of your friends. Stop making it sound like I'm so hopeless," I grit out. "I managed to do what I needed to in order to survive the first arena, and I'll do it again. I wouldn't have made it this far if that weren't the case. Like it or not, I plan on making it out of the Games. Alive."
There's a short pause when I finish. "You done?" Cato asks, looking bored.
He's so frustrating! I've never felt such a strong desire to hit someone before—well, discounting in the arena, of course. "Like it or not, Cato, we're on the same team here. So you need to get over whatever prejudice you have against me."
He grunts and begins to walk away, leaving me fuming where I stand. I wonder if I could hit him wife a knife from this distance. The rack is only a couple feet away. Even if I just hit him in the calf or something. That would make him think twice about how he's going to treat me in the arena. I don't have time to contemplate my throwing skills any further because he's suddenly turning around, sending me an annoyed expression.
"Are you just going to stand there all day?"
I roll my eyes and stalk towards him. He doesn't wait for me, and I'm left following him as he strolls across the room to some unknown destination. I have to control my desire to grab one of those fancy knives on the way. He wouldn't even see it coming.
Or he'd kill me.
He'd probably kill me.
The recurring thought makes my legs feel wooden, but I force myself to walk. I internally wince when I catch sight of the sponsors talking with the Gamemakers. We have to give a good impression, and I don't think we're off to a very good start. The feeling only gets worse when I reach where Cato is standing. I take the station in, a frown tugging at my lips. It's the simulator.
"What are we doing?" I ask, hoping my voice doesn't give away any of my anxiety.
"Isn't it obvious, Twelve? We're training," Cato says, throwing just enough condescension in there to make my hands ball into fists.
I had avoided the simulator last training session because I knew it would reveal just how pathetic I am with weapons. So did Haymitch, which is why he also told me to stay away from it. My skills haven't improved since then. I'm going to make a fool of myself.
Cato smirks, clearly aware of how uncomfortable I've suddenly become. I don't know what he's playing at. For a fraction of a second I wonder if he's actually considered working together and that maybe he wants to help me. It could only benefit him in the arena. But I crush the idea down because I doubt he's doing anything of the sort. He's probably hoping I'll look bad in front of the sponsors so that they don't blame him when he kills me himself. My body stiffens at the idea.
"You want me to work with you? Prove to me you're not useless," he says.
Useless. It's a word I've heard too many times, something I've felt too many times since being reaped. It just makes me think of Haymitch and Karn, and the Games, and everything that's happened, and I can feel both dread and anger burn in my veins. I'm tired of feeling useless. I want to feel strong. I can begrudgingly admit that accepting Cato's help is the best way to achieve that, but I don't really know how to go about it, especially not with the simulator. Besides, I don't know if he's actually offering any help.
It doesn't matter though, because apparently I've taken too long to answer. Cato chuckles, and says, "That's what I thought," before grabbing a sword off the rack and walking into the station.
I'm left standing there alone as the machine hums to life. It takes Cato less than a second to get ready, and then he's moving. His movements are quick and sure—and terrifyingly accurate. I had seen what he's capable of during the first training session, saw the ease with which he sliced through the dummies or impaled them with one weapon or another. But it's different being this close. Even the footage from the first arena didn't show him like this. Any kill he made there was quick and lacked finesse thanks to the conditions. This is what he really looks like in action, capable of killing anything or anyone who gets in his way. The ease, the smirk he wears while doing it, just as add to the coiling pit in my stomach.
It's unnerving to watch him. He's calm and focused as he slices away at the dummies, but I note the fire in his eyes, the aggression he has become so accustomed to. He is well practiced in the art of killing. I'm not so fortunate⎯-or unfortunate depending on how you look at it. Watching him reminds me of the one thing I can't forget—Cato is the biggest threat in the arena, teammate or not.
I let out a heavy breath as the last of the figures explodes into pieces thanks to Cato's strike. I can hear whispers and excited little yelps as the fake pieces fall to the ground, and a quick scan of the room tells me that Cato's got everyone's attention. The Gamemakers look over the moon about his performance. Cato straightens up and makes his way back towards me just as the humming of the machine begins to die down. There's no smirk on his face now, but the fire in his eyes remains. For a quick second I'm left thinking that as twisted as he is, maybe this is more than a game to Cato. There's no other reason to take it so seriously. But then he grunts out that it's my turn, and the thought vanishes. He just likes to see people squirm.
"I don't know if that's a good idea," I say with a glance towards the machine. I don't want to look weak by backing down, but honestly, this can only end in disaster.
Cato chuckles but there's no humor in the sound. It's hollow, and I hate it. "And why would that be? I thought you wanted to train." He's mocking me. I glower, but it's equally aimed at him and myself because I do want to train. I just can't here.
"You just told me not ten minutes ago that you think my knife skills are lacking, and I really doubt that you think I've got some hidden talent that I can use in there."
He raises an eyebrow. "Your point?"
"My point," I bite out, "is that if I'm really as bad as you believe me to be, then this will only make me look worse in front of sponsors, and that certainly doesn't help you. Shouldn't we be trying to make a good impression?"
Cato rolls his eyes like the answer should be obvious. "They've already made up their minds after the first arena. What they see here isn't going to change that. I, on the other hand, need to know what I'm working with because I'm not going to drag along dead weight, Twelve."
My blood simmers at the comment. "I am not dead weight, Two," I practically spit back. "Maybe weapons aren't my strong suit, but I didn't get an eight for no reason. Not every skill is measured in how quickly or how violently it can kill someone."
"That's great, Twelve, really," he says dryly, "but your ability to spot poisonous bugs isn't going to save anyone if someone's coming at you with an ax or spear. I won't be responsible for you if you can't take care of yourself."
"I'm not asking you to be. And yeah, maybe you're right about that, but that doesn't mean that survival skills won't save your life eventually." He opens his mouth to respond, but I cut him off. "And, you're right, my knife skills aren't great, and I do get tossed around because I'm small, but in case you didn't notice, I didn't lose any of those fights. They're dead, and I'm alive. I may not be great at throwing a knife or a spear, but I know where to aim when it comes down to it. For the last time, I want to win. So you can believe whatever you want, but weapons skills or not, I'm going to win."
I'm practically panting when I finish speaking, and my cheeks burn with all of the blood that's rushed to my face. I feel like I've run a marathon. I send Cato a glare for good measure, ignoring the part of my brain that's telling me to stop because I'm just digging a deeper hole for myself. Cato appears to have no response. Instead he stands there with his head tilted to the side, staring at me with an expression I can't quite name. I'm starting to realize that it's a pattern with him—my inability to understand what he's thinking. I feel like he's sizing me up, like he can read me better than I can read him, and it makes me incredibly uncomfortable. Maybe he doesn't have any shred of humanity, but that doesn't mean he doesn't understand it. I won't let him use whatever data he's storing away against me.
He clucks his tongue against the roof of his mouth and jerks his head towards the knife rack. "Fine, then. Let's see what you can do. Do you think you can handle some stationary targets?" he asks with false sincerity.
I roll my eyes, and this time I walk away from him. I can hear his heavy footsteps behind me, and I'm pretty sure I hear a low chuckle. He's enjoying getting under my skin. I hate him.
I grab a knife off the rack, and march towards the throwing mark. I take my stance, pulling my arm back and throwing. The knife barely leaves my hand before I hear Cato's voice beside me.
"You're doing it wrong."
The knife hits the edge of the target.
I suppress a growl as I march back towards the rack to grab another knife. My blood feels hot from embarrassment and anger. I turn towards the mark once again, and I feel the anger spike.
"Move," I say when I spot Cato standing in the spot I previously occupied.
"No." There is no raise of an eyebrow, no condescension. He is completely serious, his tone brokering no argument. I should care because I'm afraid of him. Really and truly afraid.
But I don't.
"Get out of my way so I can throw," I say, my voice surprisingly calm.
Cato rolls his eyes. "Not if you're going to do it like that again. You'll just keep missing, it'll keep being pathetic, and what little time we get to train for the arena will be wasted."
Some of the anger dissipates with that. He's right. I should listen to him. He's probably been training since he learned to walk, maybe even earlier. I sort through my to him now can't hurt, I tell myself. I'll either see improvement or I won't. He can't trick me with this. And it's not like he doesn't already know that a knife is the only weapon I'm most likely capable of using. I pretty much gave that away in the last arena. I could try the ax, but I don't think that will impress him much either. If this doesn't work, we stop. Yes, I should listen to him. Besides, I'm tired of this conversation going in circles.
I swallow whatever lingering anger I have. It leaves a bitter taste in my mouth. "Fine. What am I doing wrong?"
There's a flicker of something like surprise on Cato's face before he says, "Your whole stance is wrong."
"I'm doing what the instructor told me to do." I turn to look at one and realize that there are no more instructors, only officials and the head trainer, Atala, to monitor us. This really is just about our partnerships.
"Well then you aren't doing it very well," he replies. He steps to the side. "Take your stance."
I only hesitate for a moment before walking up to the mark. I separate my feet and pull the knife back like the instructor said.
"Wrong."
I take a deep breath and turn to the boy beside me. "What exactly is wrong with it?" I ask.
"Your arm," he says. "And your feet," he adds a moment later. He actually looks a little annoyed, like I'm more incapable than he thought.
Great.
"How do I fix it?" My patience is wearing thinner by the minute.
His eyes trail down, landing on the knife in my right hand. "Your throwing is too slow for a knife that light."
That's it, that's all he says.
I stare at him in silence but he doesn't continue. Does he think I know what that means? The answer is obviously yes, because I'm just met with more silence.
"And that means what exactly?" I ask, frustration no doubt evident in my voice.
Cato rolls his eyes again. "Didn't you say you worked with a butcher? Do you know anything about knives?" he asks incredulously.
I'm confused for a second, wondering how he could know that before I remember that that conversation was shown on the recap last night. I don't know if should be surprised that he was paying attention to anything that I said. But then again, I'm sure the Careers are taught to pay close attention to everyone so that they can use their weaknesses against them in the most efficient manner. It's really the only plausible explanation.
"Yes, I know about knives," I say in reply. "But butchering meat doesn't generally involve throwing knives across the room so…"
"It means that if you throw that slowly, the knife will wobble or float, and that your shot has almost no chance of being effective," he says. He sounds just as frustrated as I feel. "And…" he trails off, his eyes narrowing slightly. "Are you going to remember what I'm saying? Because I'm not going to spend all day explaining this to you."
I shot him a glare before I remind myself to stay calm. It's exhausting, but I think that I manage to pull my face into a neutral expression. "I promise to try my best," I say with forced calm.
"Fine," he grunts. Cato nods his head in the direction of my legs. "Move your feet closer together. They're way too far apart, and if you try to use that stance in an actual fight, you'll lose. Quickly. Your feet should only be about two foot lengths apart."
I do as he says, and he doesn't make a move to correct me. I take it as a win.
"With a knife that light, your throw will depend on your arm action," he continues. I'm surprised at how helpful he actually seems to be, but I probably shouldn't be. This is what he knows, what he's been taught his whole life. It's like second nature to him.
"Grab the handle like you would any other knife, and don't raise your bicep higher than your chest. It'll throw off your entire shot," he tells me. I continue walking through what he says to see if he'll stop to correct me. I'm not disappointed.
"No," he says, frustration evident in his voice as my right arm drops back. "The knife needs to be even behind your head. Then you swing it forward, and shift your weight from your right foot to your left. Under no circumstances should your right shoulder move. Your fingers, however, should snap together once you release the knife. Make sure you follow through or chances are the knife won't stick," he finishes.
No pressure or anything.
"Any day now," comes his voice from beside me.
I shoot him a glare before focusing on the target. I take a deep breath and snap my arm forward. The knife lodges itself in the target. It isn't all the way on the edge, but it isn't exactly close to the center either. I'm not disappointed because it's better than most of my other shots, but one look at Cato tells me he's not impressed.
Cato grunts something that sounds vaguely like 'pathetic' under his breath before he starts to walk away. "I'm going to the sword station," he says over his shoulder. It's not an invitation to follow. Once again, I tempted to pick up a knife and throw it at him. Then we'd really see how much his direction paid off. But then Atala walks into my line of sight, and I'm forced to let the urge go.
The stale air of the elevator is suffocating. It doesn't help that Cato's large frame takes up most of the space. I think it's safe to say that I hate him even more than I did when I woke this morning, which is a feat I didn't think possible. Following his short knife lesson—and the only moment of civilized conversation between us—Cato went back to being his Career self. By that I mean that he spent the rest of the training session strutting around the room, slicing off fake limbs, refusing to so much as breathe in the direction of the survival stations, and glaring. I'm nearly positive that the sponsors now know we aren't team material. Haymitch will be disappointed.
I'm extremely grateful that Cato is on the second floor. The idea of being in his presence any longer is nearly unbearable. I didn't know that it was possible to feel angry, restless, and scared at the same time, but Cato has somehow managed to create all of those feelings in me. I'm sure he'd be proud of the achievement.
The elevator doors slide open when we hit the second floor. I raise my eyes from the ground. They meet harsh blue ones. The sigh of relief I've been holding in refuses to pass my lips at the sight of the victor. He doesn't spare me more than a second glance. It's still enough to make every muscle in my body constrict. I'm anchored to the floor—until Cato pushes past me and stomps into the room. Demetrius follows after his brother.
It takes me another moment to register that Haymitch is standing there. We meet eyes for a brief moment, and I know that this has not been an easy day for him. I'm not feeling too good either.
I stare at him silently as he steps into the elevator, and the doors close behind him.
"What was that about?" I ask. I can hear the nerves in my voice. It's pathetic.
He waves a hand in my direction. "Nothing to get too worked up about," he says. "They just needed some reassurance. They're a little high strung."
I send him an incredulous look.
"Relax, kid. I'll explain in a little."
I release a sigh but I don't ask again. Haymitch can't keep me in the dark forever. Especially not with tomorrow quickly approaching.
"How was training?" he says after a moment. "Anything I should know about?"
It's just like the beginning of the Games. I failed to follow his instructions again. Cato definitely hates me. And what's worse is I actually tried to make this work. I just couldn't.
"Exactly as you would imagine," I say dejectedly.
"That good?"
"Better," I say. I'm sure that Haymitch can recognize the irritation in my voice. Maybe that's why he hasn't yelled at me yet. The elevator dings as the door open to our floor.
"That's to be expected," he replies as we walk into the apartment. "They're an arrogant bunch."
"Arrogant is an understatement," I mumble.
"What about the other thing?" he asks. "Learn anything interesting?"
Aside from how capable Cato is of getting under my skin? Nope. Nothing. Despite Haymitch's own propensity for sarcasm, something tells me that he wouldn't appreciate it right now. I decide to keep that to myself.
"We, uh, we didn't spend much time together." I cringe when the words leave my mouth. Saying them out loud makes it clear how much I've messed this up. "But he gave me some pointers on throwing," I say quickly. Maybe that will make up for it.
I doubt it.
"I'm not exactly a master at it, but there was some improvement," I add after a moment. I'm telling the truth too. I only hit the center circle once, but I didn't miss the target at all. Cato may still think I'm pathetic, but in comparison to the last time I tried, it really is better.
Haymitch nods at my words. "Good. Improvement is good." He starts to walk away before he turns around. He looks thoughtful for a moment before he asks, "How bad was it between you two?"
I don't really know how to answer that so I go with the one bright spot of the day. "Bad, but he hasn't threatened to kill me yet so there's that."
"Right," he says and starts walking. He stops and turns around again. "Oh, and we have dinner tonight with District Two. Be ready at 7."
He's off with that, leaving my standing in the middle of the room with my stomach in my throat. It stays there for hours.
"Where is everyone?" comes Effie's shrill voice. "It would be highly inappropriate to be late." She looks as nervous as I feel. Her heels are going to burn a hole in the floor if she keeps pacing like that.
"Don't get your panties in a twist," Haymitch says drolly. "They'll be here in a minute."
Despite how nervous I am. I can't help but laugh quietly to myself. They're worse than children sometimes. Effie does have a point, though. It's five minutes to 7:00, and Katniss and Peeta are nowhere to be found. In fact, I haven't seen them since this morning. I frown at the thought. I shouldn't be surprised though. They've been doing this the entire time we've been in the Capitol. I'm momentarily envious of their freedom, but then Effie mumbles something about weddings, and I take it back. But then again, they aren't going back into the arena tomorrow so maybe I don't.
"What will they say if we aren't on time? It gives a terrible impression. Terrible. We do not need them looking down on us," she angrily tells Haymitch.
I'm sure he's thinking the same thing I am; that they already look down on us. Thankfully we're saved from having to break the news to Effie because the elevator opens and the previous victors step out. They look tired again. Even with makeup I can see the heavy bags under their eyes.
"Oh thank goodness," Effie sighs. "There you two are. We've been waiting."
Peeta looks slightly abashed, but Katniss is unfazed by the escort's chastisement. "You said to be ready by 7. We're on time," she replies, indicating towards the clock. 6:58.
"Well, yes," Effie says, somewhat aggrieved. "But for important occasions, on time simply means early, Katniss."
"We'll remember that next time. Sorry, Effie," Peeta says. He manages to sound sincere.
Haymitch clears his throat loudly. "Well now that we have that," he throws a look towards Effie, "important lesson out of the way, we should head down. Don't want to give Enobaria a reason to use those teeth."
My eyes widen. "Enobaria? I thought Cato's brother was his mentor."
"He is," Haymitch says as he presses the button for the elevator. "But Cato had the best odds of winning out of the gate. They like to put their money on which tribute they think will win. They'll see to their other tributes later."
I swallow heavily as we step into the car. That seems harsh, but I'm not surprised. It's not what makes me nervous. Cato had the best odds. Has that changed now that I've been partnered with him? I'm positive that it has. I don't need any confirmation. With Mace and Nerissa, and Topaz and Rowan partnered together, there's no way we're at the top. It's just another reason for them to hate me.
"Who else is going to be there?" I ask. I don't like surprises. Not this kind, at least.
"Well there will be all of us, of course. Minus Cinna," Effie supplies. "He's very busy at the moment." She sighs, seeming put out, but I don't know why. She snaps out of it a moment later and adds, "There will also be Cato and his mentor, Demetrius, as well as Brutus, Enobaria, and their escort, Zella." The last part is clipped. I'm confused until I remember some of Effie's earlier comments about District Two's escort. I guess she really doesn't like her.
"Try not to worry too much about it," Haymitch says throwing a quick glance at me. "They're just trying to assert their dominance."
I knew that this would happen. It's expected that they wouldn't trust me, I'm from District Twelve, after all. I'm still scared though, even with my lack of surprise. They're idea of control could mean anything. I'm positive that it includes giving Cato the okay to kill me whenever he feels like it. I'm not that scared of Brutus and Enobaria though. They aren't the ones who remind me of Amelia. They aren't the ones that can hurt me.
The elevator slows to a stop and the doors slide apart. I follow my mentor out slowly, the nerves pinching in my stomach. The apartment is cold—in both temperature and design. Everything is sharp lines and hard in comparison to District Twelve's floor. I think it's fitting. The room is not out of place in the Capitol, just like they aren't.
My head turns sideways when I feel someone step up beside me.
"Don't let him intimidate you," Katniss says.
I'm about to ask her who she's referring to, when I hear Haymitch speak from my other side.
"Just let me do the talking, kid."
I turn away from my mentor when we stop walking. It's hard to focus on anything other than the crowd of people in the room. Especially when they're all sneering at me.
"Nice of you to join us, Abernathy," Enobaria says.
Haymitch sends her a perfunctory nod. She smiles falsely, bearing her teeth like an animal. They're are sharp and pointed—a chilling remainder of how she won her Games. My appetite is quickly decreasing.
Enobaria's gaze drifts away from my mentor and falls on me. My insides twist in discomfort. She's terrifying, but I hold her gaze. At least then I don't have to look at anyone else in the room. A heavy silence falls over us. Thankfully, Effie hates the quiet.
"It's very kind of you to have us," Effie tells the District Two team. Even her smile seems a little forced.
"Yes, well, it's all in the spirit of unity," comes a sickly sweet voice that I don't recognize.
I turn my head away from Enobaria and towards the source. My eyes widen when I take in the figure. I don't know how I could have missed her when I came in. The only way to describe what she's wearing is hideous. And orange. I blink twice to make sure I'm seeing correctly. Yep, that's definitely what she's wearing. The dress is a horrifying puffy, gauzy material that is layered in alternating shades of orange. The material even covers her neck, and there's a red ribbon that ties around the base, forming a bow in the front. There are no sleeves, but the same gauzy material is wrapped around her wrists in giant, identical bracelets. She's wearing red tights and her shoes have some sort of animal hair on them. On top of her bright pink hair sits a headpiece that's made of fruit. And I thought Effie was bad.
She looks older than my escort. The powder on her face and the striking amount of alterations has done little in the way of making her appear young. Her face looks hard—like porcelain—and unfriendly. She's the perfect escort for District Two.
"Effie, dear, aren't you going to introduce us to your team?" she asks. I narrow my eyes slightly. The condescension is clear in her voice.
Effie gives a slightly pained smile. "Oh yes, of course. Katniss, Peeta, Briar, this is Brutus, Enobaria, and Demetrius, three of District Two's mentors. Lyme is attending to the female tributes at the moment," Effie says. She takes a short breath and turns to the orange monstrosity. "And this is District Two's escort, Zella."
There's another pause before my mentor speaks. "Well now that we know we're all here, why don't we get started?" Haymitch asks, the false cheer evident in his voice.
"That's probably a good idea," Demetrius says. It's not the first time I've heard him speak. No. After he won I was forced to watch interview after interview of him discussing the Games, the Capitol, what he would do now that he was a victor. It sent a chill through me every time. It has the same effect now.
I follow everyone to the table despite the leaden feeling in my body. Everyone moves around awkwardly for a moment, trying to figure out where to sit. I edge closer to Haymitch and Effie, but I stop when someone calls out my name.
"You're Briar, yes?" Zella asks. I nod. "Wonderful. You'll sit right there."
She points to a seat at the end of the table. My gaze meets Cato's cold eyes. I have the overwhelming urge to protest. I don't. That would just make things worse. Instead, I nod and make my way to the where she pointed. My mouth twitches slightly in a silent greeting to my partner. It's not even close to a smile, but it's the best it's going to get. Cato just glances at me and then turns back to the table. I think that went well.
Katniss sits to the left of me. Considering her general lack of speaking, and my desire to avoid Cato, I realize that I will be spending the night in silence. It's probably for the better anyway. I'd rather not give them another reason to want me dead. I glance to the other end of the table. Haymitch sits directly across from me. Amelia's murderer sits beside him. I tear my gaze away quickly.
Once we're all seated, the first course is brought out. It's eerily quiet in the room, nothing to be heard except for the clanking of spoons or forks. Nobody wants to start the conversation. It makes sense for us. District Twelve and District Two never work together because it's impossible to trust each other. The general distaste for their district places conversing with them low on the list of priorities.
It doesn't make as much sense for them though. They like to be in control. I would think that they'd want to make it clear what their views are. I conclude that their lack of conversation has to do with the fact that they think poorly of us. I'm sure it's very hard for them to associate with an outlying district. But they don't have much of a choice. Not with Effie in the room.
"It's so quiet," she says. Her lips press together in a smile that's approaching a grimace. "Everyone must be very hungry."
We all glance up at her when she speaks, but only Zella replies.
"Well, is that so much of a surprise? Coming from District Twelve, your party must not be used to such decadent meals. What with food being so scarce," Zella says.
I narrow my eyes, but Effie replies for me. "Yes, it is unfortunate. It's so difficult to find the proper resources so far away from the Capitol, but they make do with what they have. I'm thinking of starting a relief effort. I was thinking I would start with some of my old fruit décor, since they are quite on their way out." Effie is sitting a little taller than before. Zella's face is rapidly turning the same shade as the apple on her head. "You might think about contributing one of your headpieces. I'm sure they'd be happy to have it. They'll take practically anything there."
Haymitch snorts into his soup, and Effie looks very proud of herself. I wouldn't be surprised if Zella threw the adjacent orange at her. Katniss and Peeta are trying to hide their amused looks by shoving food into their mouths. My own lips twitch into a small smirk until I catch a glimpse of Cato. He's glowering at his food, spearing the beef like it's his next kill. It's a lot less funny when I look at him, so I turn my eyes on Two's escort. Zella just smiles serenely.
"I can see that you adapted very well to your District, Effie, darling. You've even begun to dress like them. It's always nice to give your tributes the comfort of home," Zella says sweetly.
Effie sends her a prim smile. "I'm surprised that you noticed, Zella, dear. It can be hard to recognize the newest trends when you're so far away from the center of it all. Luckily for me, I get to preview all of Cinna and Katniss' newest designs. They're so generous with their inner circle. You know how fashion is—so exclusive," Effie says, whispering the last part like it's a trade secret.
The tension at the table is palpable. Zella is trying her best to not look affronted, but she isn't doing a good job. For a second I feel like I'm in a whole different type of arena. How nice would it be if all we had to do was defend our fashion choices? Zella looks ready to fire something back at Effie, but she never gets the chance.
Demetrius clears his throat loudly. "We aren't here for this drivel. If you want to discuss fashion, you're welcome to leave," he says in a clipped voice.
Both Effie and Zella look embarrassed at the reprimand. My own blood feels hot at the tone he takes with my escort. Effie is harmless. He has no right to talk to her like that.
Instead of saying whatever it is she had in mind to my escort, Zella sends Effie a strained smile and asks someone to pass the green beans.
Everyone is quiet for a moment as the avoxes come to bring out more food. Once they've gone Demetrius speaks again. "Have you thought over what I said, Abernathy?"
"Yes, and the answer is still no," Haymitch replies gruffly.
I look between the two men, confusion no doubt coloring my features. I spare a quick glance at the rest of the table. No else seems confused. Not even Cato. Demetrius' face twists with annoyance, as do the faces of the other two mentors from my allied district.
"If we entertain this folly for a second in the arena, it will severely cripple Cato's chances. It's unacceptable," he says forcefully.
I can tell that Haymitch is fighting the urge to roll his eyes. "People survive in the arena without it all the time. If he's really as good as you all believe, then it shouldn't be a problem."
Cato stiffens beside me, sending a glare to my mentor. He's clearly angry, though I'm guessing it's different from the anger forming inside of me. Everyone knows what Haymitch and Demetrius are talking about except for me. I've been left out of the loop. It's obvious that they're arguing about me, about the effect I have on Cato's chances of winning. I hate being talked about like I'm not in the room.
"It would give them a clear advantage," Demetrius says. He leans back in his seat seeming thoughtful for a moment. "You know, Abernathy, your insistence against it makes me question your reliability. If this is going to be such a problem, why are we discussing anything at all?"
Haymitch sits up straighter in his chair, his eyes narrowing at the victor beside him. "I'll tell you wh—"
"What are you talking about?" asks an irritated voice. I belatedly release it's mine. So much for staying quiet.
Everyone turns to look at me, and I hear someone laugh quietly. Enobaria.
"So she does speak," she says with mock surprise.
I ignore her and the glaring boy next to me, instead focusing on the two mentors across from me. "What are you talking about?" I ask again.
Everyone continues to look at me, and it's Brutus who speaks this time. "This could be solved much more simply," he says to the two mentors. He turns his head towards me. "What are your skills, girl?"
I'm taken by surprise for a moment. I knew the question was coming at some point, but I still don't know what to say. Cato takes it upon himself to answer for me in my silence.
"Nothing that will be of any use."
Why does everyone keep questioning me? I thought surviving the first arena would count for something, but apparently I was wrong.
I glower at the boy beside me. "That isn't true. We just have different opinions on what's useful in the arena," I bite back. It's not entirely true, but I'm not going to let him push me around.
"She won't stand a chance in the Cornucopia," Enobaria adds, clearly taking my defensive tone as an admittance of weakness.
So that's what this is about—the Bloodbath. They want us to go, and Haymitch is arguing against it. But Careers always participate in the slaughtering. Am I one by extension? I hope not. The District Two team clearly doesn't believe I am, and the fact that Haymitch is refusing to agree means that he doesn't think I am either. They all think I can't do this. I can feel the disagreement sitting on the tip of my tongue, but I hold it back. I won't argue just because I don't like being doubted, especially when I have doubts of my own. The Bloodbath is near suicidal. I don't want to be anywhere near there.
"Going to the Cornucopia isn't necessary," Katniss says, speaking up for the first time. "Peeta and I won last year without it."
"Briar's already proven she can hunt," Peeta adds, adopting an authoritative tone that I didn't know he had, "and she's good with other survival skills. Everyone from District Two looks ready to protest at that statement, but he doesn't give them a chance. "You may not value them as highly as the ability to use a weapon, but you can't argue with the fact that they come in handy. We have no idea what the arena will be like. You never know what might be needed. And she's not bad with a knife either. There's a reason she got an eight," he says after a pause.
Cato scoffs beside me, and I have to fight the urge to kick him under the table.
"I'm not that bad," I spit at the boy.
"You're terrible."
"I can hit a target."
"Barely."
"Well, 'barely' was pretty efficient in the first arena, wasn't it?" I say tersely.
I only register the harshness of my words once they leave my mouth. Enobaria looks almost giddy at the statement. It's enough to make feel guilty about saying it. I can't take the words back though, and as cruel as they are, I don't know if I want to. I need to find some way to show them that I can be helpful, that I'm not just pulling Cato down. And they seem to respond the best to cruelty.
Thankfully no one on my team looks angry or appalled by my comment. Haymitch even looks like he's smirking a little, although it seems to be directed at 2. He's probably glad that they aren't getting away with insulting us.
"As fascinating as this all is, it doesn't solve the problem of the Cornucopia," Demetrius says.
His comment is directed at the entire table, but I glare at him anyway. My cheeks burn. I hate him. I hate all of them.
"It's still unnecessary. There's no reason to risk it," Haymitch says.
Demetrius shakes his head. "It's only a risk if you're unprepared."
I think of the other boy from Two, the one that Barden killed. He didn't make it past the Cornucopia. Did they just chalk it up to him being unprepared? Did they not give it any more thought? Probably not. He's just another failure to them.
"We don't have to be in the same place all of the time," I say after a moment. "Cato can go to the Cornucopia and if he makes it out, then we'll go from there."
"I'll make it out," Cato replies crossly.
"And what do you suggest happens after that? How exactly do you expect to meet up?" says Demetrius before Cato can say anything else.
It's the first time he's spoken directly to me. A chill runs up my spine, and my eyes narrowly slightly.
"I'll make sure not to go too far," I say flatly. "I promise to make it easy for him."
Cato doesn't appreciate my mocking tone. I can see him tense beside me, his glare attempting to burn a hole in my head.
Haymitch shakes his head. "Splitting up is a bad idea. The arena might make it nearly impossible to find each other again."
Something tells me that District Two would prefer that. A part of me prefers it too, but there's a voice in my head telling me that Cato could be an asset, so I shut the other part down. I sit back against my chair as a silence falls over us.
"I told you this was useless," Cato says after a minute. "The only thing she can do is run."
I scowl at him until I feel someone's eyes on me. I fail in suppressing a shudder when I realize that it's Demetrius. His look is thoughtful, but it still causes dinner to rise up my throat.
"Why not make use of that speed?" he asks. "You scored well on the gauntlets, yes?"
It's definitely not what I was expecting him to say. He's actually pointing out that I'm good at something. Cato or someone else from his district must have told him.
I nod in response. "I finished second."
"What are you thinking, Demetrius?" comes Enobaria's voice.
"We send her in," he replies. "If she's as fast as she seems—if that show with the muttation wasn't a fluke—she could be one of the first ones there. In and out before anyone gets a chance to attack," he finishes. There is no emotion in his voice. It's calculated and cool. If I were an outsider, I never would have guessed the situation between us.
I stare blankly at the victor. I have no idea how to respond to that. I know that I'm one of the fastest tributes here, that I could beat them to the Cornucopia, but I still have no desire to join the Bloodbath. Haymitch seems to agree with me.
"It's too dangerous. That's making too many assumptions about the arena."
He's right. Who knows what it will be like? It could be a lake, or a swamp, or a city filled with rubble. Running may not even be an option. But still, it's apparently the only good quality they see in me. I have to make it work.
"I can do it," I say before I have time to overthink it. My team stares at me, their faces showing everything from disbelief to anger. I try to ignore them. "I can do it on the condition that there's actually somewhere to run. If the terrain is bad or the Cornucopia is sparse, then we go."
I feel Amelia's bracelet resting on my wrist, and somewhere in the back of my mind I register that I could be making a fatal mistake. Just like Amelia did six years ago, I'm negotiating a deal with District Two. The only thing I can do is hope that this doesn't cost me my life. I don't see many other options.
I send Haymitch an apologetic look. He looks angry, and I can't really blame him. I just went directly against what he's been arguing. He presses his lips together, and I have to look away. I don't want to see how disappointed he is.
I look over to Peeta and Katniss, and their expressions are both serious.
"Are you sure about this, Briar?" Peeta asks.
No.
"Yeah." I nod. "I am."
Everyone from District Two looks pleased with this turn of events. Well, everyone except Cato. He doesn't exactly look angry, just displeased. He was probably hoping that we would separate so that he wouldn't have to work with me at all.
"Well, that's settled then," Zella says cheerily, breaking the strained atmosphere. "At least someone among you is sensible."
"It's not sensible. It's suicide," Katniss says, anger tingeing her voice.
Everyone's heads snap to face her, including my own. I hadn't expected her to add anything, and I don't think anyone else did either. She's barely said anything all night.
"You're questioning our strategy?" Enobaria asks. Her words are calm, but I can hear the hostility laced within them. "That strategy has proven effective countless times, especially in comparison to those of District Twelve. You don't have to look farther than these Games. There are three tributes from District Two, and what do you have?" she asks, her eyes trailing over to me. She smiles a fake, predatory looking thing and turns back to Katniss. "Just the one."
My eyes narrow sharply at the woman. Everything I've come to believe about them—their cruelty, their lack of humanity—is confirmed in her statement. How dare she? She has no right to talk about them. She has no right to act like their deaths don't matter. Thalia and Collis deserve more than to have her talk about them.
Everyone on my team appears to be as furious as I am. Effie lets out a surprised gasp, and both Katniss and Haymitch have their eyes narrowed dangerously. But it's not their reactions that surprise me the most. No, it's Peeta's. His cheeks are bright red and his hand grips his fork so tightly that his knuckles have begun to turn white.
"Why don't you two leave?" Haymitch says, his voice deadly calm. "Let the grownups talk for a little."
I don't have to be told twice. I have no desire to be near them any longer. I can feel the anger simmering in my veins, the temptation to scream or hit something nearly overwhelming. I'm out of my seat and to the elevator in a matter of seconds. I barely register the heavy footfalls behind me. I don't take a breath until I'm in the elevator, jabbing the button to my destination.
Every nerve in my body is alive, and they refuse to settle when Cato steps into the car beside me. Thankfully he seems as eager to converse as I am. The only movement he makes is to press one of the buttons on the wall, his hand rising. It falls back to his side without pressing anything. Instead he stares at the button I've pressed: the bright yellow R. I realize that he meant to go to the roof as well. He probably expected me to go back to my floor. Too bad.
The doors open, revealing the wide expanse of the roof. I step out, sucking in the air eagerly. The wind whips harshly against my body, but I welcome it. My skin still feels too hot. I lean against the railing, pressing my forehead to my palm as everything about the dinner rushes over me. I feel overwhelmed. Demetrius, Amelia, District Two, the arena—it's too much to handle. The urge to run, to escape, pricks at my skin, but I push it away. There's nowhere to go.
I don't know how long I stand there just listening to the sound of the wind and my breathing. I'm thankful for the quiet. I know it's the only peace I'm going to have for a long time.
I sense Cato's presence before he speaks. "What do you want?" I ask, glancing to the boy. I don't try to restrain the ire in my voice.
He holds his hands in mock surrender, a smirk tugging at his lips. "I was just wondering why you did it. Agreed to go to the Cornucopia," he clarifies.
I turn back towards the city and roll my eyes. "Does it matter?"
"I suppose not," he says. "I'm just surprised, is all. Girl on Fire makes a good point. You might want to listen."
I send him a dark look. "I'll be fine, but thanks for your concern." I should stop talking before I say something I'm going to regret.
"Fine," he tells me with a shrug. "Just don't expect me to protect you."
I can't prevent the bark of laughter. He tenses slightly at the sound. "Believe me, your help is the last thing I was expecting. I'm not under any illusions about your desire to work with me."
"Good," he says.
"Good. Now that that's all cleared up, why don't you go back to your team? I wouldn't want to cripple your chances any more than I already have," I tell him. I really should stop talking now.
Cato stands silently, his eyes narrowing on my face. I can see his jaw tense under the lights of the roof. He crosses his arms, his face taking on a haughty expression.
"All of you are the same," he says.
I turn to fully face him, my own arms crossing defensively. "What do mean 'all of you'?" I ask indignantly.
"You people from outlying districts."
Heat rushes to my face. "Excuse me?"
"You heard me," he replies, anger and annoyance filling his voice. "You all have this hatred towards other districts because we win and we take pride in what we do. You hate us for being more successful than you."
"For…for being more successful?" I sputter, my anger bubbling over. I can't help but laugh at the stupidity of the statement. "There are a lot of reasons to hate your district and all the others that usually win, but it's not because you win, it's because of how you win."
"You mean by being the best?"
Something inside me snaps. "You're only the best because you spend your whole lives training for this! You stick children in schools and train them to be killers. They make it so that you enjoy this…this sick idea of a game. The odds are in your favor just based on where you're born. Unlike One, and Two, and Four, us outlying districts have other things to worry about aside from the glory that the Games could bring us," I spit. As soon as I finish speaking, I feel terror begin to claw its way through my body. I've said too much—too many dangerous things.
"That's exactly what I mean," Cato says lowly as he takes a step closer to me. "You all have this idea in your head that we're mindless killers, that we're to blame for all of your problems. Did you ever stop to think that maybe the problems you have are your own fault?"
I know that I've said too much already, but I can't stop myself. Cato's anger fuels my own, and I can't hold it back. "Our fault? Yeah, you're right, we lose because of our own decisions. We're more concerned with staying alive than training for the Games. You don't care about anyone but yourself. None of you do. This is all there is to you. And it all works out for you. You're the only ones who want to kill anyone, which pretty much ensures that you'll win. People die for this. Kids who never stood a chance to begin with."
He takes another step closer, and I instinctively step back. The railing presses sharply against my back.
"You think that we're monsters because we're prepared for this, or because we train, or enjoy it, or don't feel sorry for you. But you're wrong," he says. "You think what we do is wrong, but have you ever stopped to actually think about it? We prepare so that we have the best possible chance of winning. We bring the children from our districts home. And what does your district do? They hide behind excuses, allow people who are completely unprepared to be reaped, and then complain about how they don't win."
Part of me freezes up at that, because he's right. They get to go home and the kids from Twelve or the other outlying districts are sent to their deaths. I've felt nothing but unprepared and helpless since arriving in the Capitol, but all of the Careers have been full of nothing but confidence. They know that they have a good chance of winning. They know that we don't.
No! I can't agree with him. They only perpetuate the problem. They do the Capitol's dirty work. They don't even question why the Games are wrong. They allow the Games to continue.
"You're right. Your district does bring children home, but that's nothing to be proud of." Confusion colors his face. I can't help but laugh, but there is no humor in it. "There's no glory in any of this, in what your district does."
"Stop talking about my district like you understand it," he growls.
"Then stop talking about mine," I bite back.
"This is never going to work," Cato says angrily. "You're nothing but a burden." He marches back towards the elevator, and I follow. The anger inside me is still trying to claw its way out.
"What did you call me?"
"You heard me, Twelve," he growls, rounding on me after jabbing the button. "You're nothing but a burden to me. Fortunately for you, I'll tolerate it for now."
"Why even bother?" I spit as the doors separate.
"Because right now, it's what they want. They don't know that this won't work. But the hype—all the fascination with us as a pair—will die down eventually. Not that it really matters," he says as he steps into the elevator. "I won't have to deal with you for much longer. Chances are you'll get yourself killed anyway."
The doors slide shut, and he's gone. I stand there facing the metal doors, cold air chilling my skin as my throat constricts. The wind dries the dampness from my cheeks before it has time to make its way down my face, but I wipe at them anyway.
AUTHOR'S NOTE:
WOW DRAMATIC MUCH CATO AND BRIAR? So much tension already...
lovewords: As you can see, there's already a lot of trouble between these two crazy kids. What will happen? I don't know... we'll have to see. On another note, it has been a rough go for Katniss and Peeta, that's for sure.
SlyviaHunterOfArtemis: Cato is indeed a jerkface... Is every pairing male and female? The answer is no, it just sort of happened that the main ones I'm focusing on are male/female because I (think) have a pretty even spread of male and female characters so it just kind of happened.
GreenOnBlack: Ahhh, glad you liked the chapter. And yeah, Briar is emotional, but not overly. She very much tries to think on the rational side, but we al know that's easier said than done.
WhiteEevee: Ah yes, Briar is quite good at acting... sometimes. She's been doing it for years though so... We will definitely be seeing more of Zeppina and Jute, so be on the lookout. AHahahah Nervosa... It is a good name replacement for Nerissa.
AlphaZero21: Yeah, I figured it would be pretty obvious, but the tension isn't supposed to be in the shock of the pairing. Hopefully the rest of the story makes up for it.
Thanks for reading and for the reviews. It seriously means so much to me that you guys enjoy the story!