I'm alone in bed when I wake up the following morning. Out of habit I reach out my hand and touch Peeta's pillow to feel if it's cold or if it's still warm. I find it cold. He must have been up for a while.
I roll over on my other side and look at the alarm clock. It's just past eight in the morning. Breakfast won't be served until nine. With a yawn I sit up, stretching my arms above my head. I've slept without nightmares, an anomaly for Hunger Games nights, but I'm not about to spent any time thinking about that. There's a gnawing worry at the pit of my stomach, for Tommy and for the tribute I need to put the majority of my focus on.
My first stop is the shower. I let the hot water pour down on me while I brush my teeth using Peeta's toothbrush. My mind feels a bit foggy and unfocused and I need to find a way to snap out of that. I need to get some food in my stomach, check in on Sally, get an update on Tommy and then get to work securing sponsors for the girl. It's hard to say at this point whether she will be a tough sell or not. She had interested sponsors before the Games even started but that can change fast and it's no secret that I am the least capable mentor from District 12 when it comes to procuring sponsors.
As I step out of the shower and begin to dry off I think back to the night they announced the tributes' scores. The career tributes naturally got scores of either nine or ten. None of the youngest tributes got more than a five. Throughout the show Sally sat with her arms crossed and a grumpy glare, barely even looking at the screen, while Tommy looked calm and composed but his foot swayed back and forth rapidly the way it often does when he is nervous.
His score turned out to be an eight, just like Peeta's had been, and he let out a relieved sigh when the number was announced. Peeta put his arm around his shoulders and gave him a small congratulatory nudge while Haymitch smiled and patted him on the knee. My eyes went to Sally who snorted and rolled her eyes and I wanted to snap at her for begrudging him a good number. Then her score was announced and it turned out to be a six. She barely reacted at all, outwardly, but I could see the corner of her mouth tremble and a frightened glint in her eyes. The upbeat mood from Tommy's eight went away and awkwardness replaced it. It's always like that if our boy tribute gets a better score than the girl – you congratulate the boy and then have no clue what to say to the girl. It's a little bit easier if the girl gets a good score and not the boy because the contrast becomes less glaring but the celebration is still rather dimmed.
Tommy was the only one who said anything at all to her. He gave her a look that was so much like Peeta and said to her that she deserved better than a six. She told him to go to hell and stormed off to her room. Any remaining desire to celebrate Tommy's eight definitely went out the window at that point.
The memory troubles me, for two reasons. First and foremost because a six is not a good score for a girl her age and I had expected at least a seven, possibly an eight. Second that abrasive personality is not going to make it any easier for me to ensure sponsorship. I guess she's going on the offense to hide her desperation but that doesn't help me and it sure as hell doesn't help her.
It's almost nine o'clock by the time I leave the bedroom and Emalda, the two stylists and Haymitch and Peeta are all gathered by the table. Peeta looks tired, dark circles under his eyes, but he seems composed and calm enough to sit down and have breakfast which I take as a good sign. Peeta rarely gets so worked up that he can't set aside fifteen minutes to eat something but with our nephew's life on the line all bets are off.
"Good morning" I say as I take my seat beside him.
"Good morning."
"Morning sweetheart" says Haymitch without looking at me.
"You didn't sleep much" I say to Peeta, not bothering to make it a question.
"Couldn't" he mumbles under his breath.
An avox places a plate of scrambled eggs in front of me and I grab my fork and dig in, the taste barely registering.
"And Tommy?" I ask between bites.
"Fell asleep very late, hasn't woken up yet." He takes a few gulps of milk from the glass in front of him. "Did you get a chance to check up on Sally yet?"
"No, not yet. I assume she's still alive since my pager hasn't beeped."
He nods slowly, his eyes fixated on the porridge he's been served for breakfast this morning.
"I thought I'd head out and mingle among the Capitol riff-raff before lunch" says Haymitch. "Feel like joining me, sweetheart?"
I nod, feeling relieved at the suggestion. Haymitch is about a thousand times better at the sponsor dance than I am and going out to try and woo rich Capitol dimwits for their money is a lot easier if he is with me.
"Just give me a chance to check in on her first" I say.
"She was still sleeping, too, last time I checked."
I nod again, absentmindedly. The two stylists begin to talk with Emalda but none of us mentors say anything else for the duration of the meal. I finish my eggs but Peeta barely touches his porridge. I feel compelled to point out to him that he needs all the energy he can get, that Tommy needs him to be at the top of his game, but I don't think that anything I say will make a difference right now.
I finally finish my meal and push my chair back, not eager to get to sponsor fishing but longing to have it over with.
"Give me ten minutes and I'll meet you by the elevators" I tell Haymitch.
I begin to walk towards the sitting room and I throw a glance over my shoulder to see if Peeta disapproves. If he does, if he wants me to go downstairs to check on Sally even though he's sitting by the breakfast table still and thus not watching Tommy anyway, then I'll be really irritated. Strangely I feel that I actually want him to object, want to get irritated with him, want to blow off some steam having a fight with him.
I shudder and rub my arms to gain some warmth from the sudden chill that seems to overcome me. The Games have a tendency to bring out a querulous side of me. And Peeta doesn't object, doesn't seem to care that I'm claiming our screen for the time being. I don't think I was honestly expecting him to make any irrational protests anyway.
Taking a seat on the armrest of the couch I grab the remote and tune in to Sally's feed. She's lying on dirt ground, her left hand serving as a pillow, her breath coming even and slow. It makes me nervous. Seeing my tributes sleep always makes me nervous. I switch to the main feed to see what else is going on but it seems that only the career tributes and the girl from Six are awake. The careers are maybe five or six tunnels away from Sally and one additional tunnel away from Tommy, with several other tributes closer to them. That is the only thing that makes me relax at the moment.
Ten minutes later I stand by the elevators, dressed for a turn around town, decked out in a deep green outfit made by my stylist Lasha. My wedding ring is on my finger and my hair is done up in its signature braid. Haymitch pounded it into my brain years and years ago that if I want to seduce presumptive sponsors into giving away their money for my tributes I need to keep reminding them of who I am and why they rooted for me all those years ago. Each year it grows increasingly difficult as many of the new people who might be willing to sponsor tributes are too young to clearly remember my turn in the arena. I'm becoming something of a has-been, though lucky for my tributes President Snow insists on reminding everyone of the star-crossed lovers each year.
I close my eyes for a second and sigh heavily through my nose. I don't want to think about the star-crossed lovers right now. Things are bad enough as it is without worrying about how Peeta and I will be able to play our part this year to Snow's satisfaction.
A clean-shaven and nicely dressed Haymitch comes walking up to me, ready to head out on town. I smile a little when I see him. Haymitch can clean up nicely when he wants to and when he believes one of the tributes stands a fighting chance he always wants to. It feels comforting to know that he believes Tommy can make it. Even if he's not so sure about that and is only making himself presentable for my sake and for Peeta's it still makes me feel better. I don't think one could get Haymitch to admit that he loves Peeta or me at gunpoint but to the pair of us, perhaps the only two living people who really know him, the signs are there.
"Ready, sweetheart?" he asks, rolling back the sleeves of his shirt slightly.
"Never" I sigh, pressing the call button to the elevator. "Glad to be doing this with you, though."
When the doors open we step inside the car and begin our ride down. Anxiously I bite my bottom lip and lean back against the wall, crossing my arms over my chest.
"Relax" says Haymitch, knowing I'm fretting without having to look at me.
"Sure" I say. "Nothing much at stake today. It's not like anybody's life depends on me being able to woo some Capitol numbskull."
"Always so dramatic" sighs Haymitch with rolling eyes,
"Must have picked that up from you."
He chuckles slightly, then looks at me.
"Your talents as a sponsorship procurer are about on par with my artistic talents" he says, making me scoff at the pathetic stick figure drawings that are the most artistic things I have yet to see him produce. "Your legacy as the girl on fire still holds cachet, though. Usually you're able to fool some poor fellow into opening their purse."
"I usually point them in Peeta's direction and let him do the talking."
"You know…" says Haymitch as the elevator reaches the entry level floor and the doors open. "You're not a terrible mentor. Any tribute is lucky to have you watching their back, sweetheart."
"I have a zero percent success rate" I remind him as we walk through the wide open space of the large entry hall.
"Every mentor does until they don't anymore. Once you get a hold of some sponsorship money you'll know exactly what to do with it. The girl is in capable hands. Just unwind and you'll have a better chance of success."
"I need to unwind?" I scoff, glad to hear his remarks about my mentoring but too tightly wound to not still be cranky. "Peeta barely sleeps and barely eats."
"I'm not arguing with that" says Haymitch, squinting at the bright sunlight as we step outside. "Shove a piece of coal up his ass right now and you'll get yourself a pearl."
That finally makes me laugh and I feel myself relax just a little bit. I hook Haymitch's arm with mine and let him lead the way.
By the time we return to our quarters any merriment has definitely left my mind. I wasn't able to convince a single person to even consider sponsoring Sally and Haymitch fared little better trying to win sponsors for Tommy. I know I shouldn't get too downbeat about it. Early on in the Games it can be tricky to get sponsors because people haven't begun to really root for specific tributes yet. There are naturally exceptions to that rule but for the most part those exceptions were born in a career district.
"Tell me both our tributes are still alive and well" I say wearily as I walk into the sitting room where Peeta is perched on the couch, eyes glued to the screen.
"Tommy is searching for a supply station" replies Peeta in a fairly emotionless voice, not taking his eyes off the screen. "Sally isn't doing much of anything. Biding her time, I guess. Neither one of them is near any other tributes at the moment."
"This labyrinth is bad news all around" I sigh, pulling the band out of my braid and letting my hair fall down loosely over my shoulders as I slump down on the couch. "If the tributes' paths don't cross Magnus and his crew are going to get antsy."
"That's not going to be a problem today" answers Peeta in a monotone.
"Yeah?" I snort. "You're sure of that?"
He looks at me, something cold in his eyes that makes me sit up a bit more straight.
"Yes."
"Which tribute was it?" asks Haymitch.
Peeta and I both turn and look at him, leaning against the wall with a tall glass of ice water in his hand. He looks just as weary and downtrodden as Peeta does, and as I feel. And we're only on the second day of the Games.
"The girl from Eight" says Peeta finally. "Ran into a trap." He visibly shudders and closes his eyes for a second. "There was a… a carved image on the wall. She touched it."
I frown, wondering what exactly took her life. Peeta seems sickened by it so I don't want to ask him. I'll find out tonight, anyway, when we are all to relive the excitement and the thrill of watching that girl lose her life.
"Any luck winning sponsors?" asks Peeta wearily.
"This isn't a celebratory drink of water, boy" replies Haymitch, raising his glass.
With a groan Peeta settles back the way he was on the couch, facing the screen. I sit there for a few minutes, watching Tommy search for a supply station, but I can't bear the silence and the weary mood. I get up from my seat and without a word walk towards the elevators. As I ride down towards the common area for the mentors I wonder what I will say if I run into any of the mentors from District 8.
I actually forgot the chapter that was centered around revealing the scores, that's why it gets shoehorned in here.
Next chapter will be back in the past, with some changes in store for Katniss and Peeta.