The scowl on my face goes hand in hand with my mood as I walk from the conference room towards the elevators. Another failed sponsor meeting, one more occasion where I've failed one of my tributes to add to my all too long list.
The process of procuring sponsors for the tributes is an intricate thing, much more so than I ever expected before I became a mentor myself. When I was young and saw the Games on TV I assumed that sponsors contacted the mentors if they were interested in giving something to a tribute and that the mentor could mingle with Capitol hoi polloi and try to convince them to spend money if nobody volunteered to do so. I wasn't wrong, but the system is far more complex than that. There are sponsorship "auctions" where investment groups, bored millionaires and occasionally even a representative of the government will donate a sum of money but it's up to the mentors to convince them to choose their tribute. I hate those arrangements. Usually they're loud and lead to petty fights and the money rarely goes to the tribute who most deserves it, but to the tribute whose mentor is the best at charming or manipulating the paying party. Finnick Odair used to be very good at this but Peeta isn't half bad at it either and there have been times when the two of them have engaged in what could best be described as verbal jousting. Some years it has basically just been a battle between the two of them but there are also times when neither one of them wins the sponsorship money even if they both have one or more tributes still alive in the game. Barley from District 9, who won the 88th Games, won a big sponsorship sum for his female tribute last year and with the gift he sent he managed to keep her alive until the second-to-last day, placing her third in the 90th Games.
Another way of procuring sponsorship for our tributes is by way of meetings set up by the gamemakers. After nearly a century of Hunger Games it seems that the Capitol viewers have finally begun to tire of how successful the career tributes usually are – I suppose it takes some of the fun out of it if you know that six of the tributes are by default more likely to win. Little by little the number of people who sponsor career tributes has gone down but those people haven't chosen to sponsor other tributes instead. A decline in sponsor gifts is not good for the show and the head gamemaker has gotten nervous about it. Starting four years ago they've implemented a system where they set up meetings for us mentors with possible sponsors. We have fifteen minutes at our disposal in our conference rooms where it's up to us to try and convince them to spend their money on our tribute. Predictably these meetings are almost always a waste of time. People don't want to sit in meetings and hear someone describe why they should throw their money away at some kid they might not even care about or remember the name of. The few who are convinced to open their wallets usually give far too small amounts for the mentor to be able to select a good gift.
These meetings anger and frustrate me to no end because I know walking in that unless the person sitting on the opposite side of the table has already made up their mind to sponsor someone from District 12 I won't be able to convince them. Our district rarely has tributes that people want to sponsor. Peeta's and my Games was something of a fluke, it seems.
Before my meeting today I sat in the conference room and watched Sally stumble through a corridor, desperately seeking a supply station. She's out of water and has very few crackers left. If she can't find a supply station, and right now she's nowhere near one, she will have to rely on me to provide food and water for her. I can't do that without sponsor money and I haven't been able to scrape up a single coin. I fervently wish that I could use my own money to buy her water and food but mentors are not permitted to buy gifts.
I'm alone in the elevator car as it makes its way up to the twelfth floor. I have another sponsor meeting in an hour but first I need to eat something. I could go to the dining room downstairs but I know it will most likely be full of mentors to the career tributes and I'm not at all in the mood to socialize with them. Collecting sponsorship money is still easy for them compared to the rest of us and I can't help but feel like a failure in their company.
I reach my floor and step out of the car, steering for the dining room. Haymitch and the two stylists are there, talking quietly while they make their way through today's lunch. We can usually order what we like for dinner but for lunch they make one dish and it's up to you if you want to eat it or go hungry. Today it's pasta swimming in some sort of creamy sauce full of vegetables. I pull out my chair and sit down, grabbing my plate and scooping up a large serving of food.
"Hungry?" comments Haymitch. He knows I always eat as much as I can when the Capitol is buying.
"I could use a hot meal to keep myself from hunting down the idiot who came up with these scheduled sponsorship meetings" I answer.
"We have ours this afternoon" says Haymitch, using a cotton napkin to wipe the corners of his mouth. "How are yours going so far?" I glare at him and he chuckles. "That well, huh?" He continues shuffling food in his mouth, talking while he chews. "Don't let it get to you, sweetheart. You know how it is. Those meetings are mostly just so the gamemakers can say they're trying to even the playing field. Nobody believes they will render much sponsorship money for undesirable districts."
I take a bite of the food. The sauce is rich and creamy and the vegetables add a lovely taste but the pasta is overcooked. I feel slightly ashamed of how accustomed I have gotten to splendid Capitol cuisine, finding a dish like this passable when before my Games I would have considered it a delicious luxury. I have come very far from the Seam brat I once was but not all changes are for the better. At the moment I can't help but think of Sally, who hasn't had anything to eat but crackers for two days now and who drank her last few mouthfuls of water twelve hours ago.
"I need that sponsorship money" I say. "Sally will die of dehydration soon."
"Is she close to any of the supply stations?" asks Sally's stylist.
"No."
I take another bite of pasta and wash it down with ice water, ignoring the carafe of wine right in front of me. As I set my glass down a sound catches my ear and I turn my head to see Peeta entering from the sitting room, looking haggard but fairly calm. He pulls out a chair next to me and takes a seat, putting only a little bit of food on his plate.
"I think we'll hear a canon soon" he says, absentmindedly placing his napkin on his lap. "The careers are getting closer to the boy from Eight."
"How's Tommy doing?" I ask.
"He's okay. His biggest problem at the moment seems to be finding a bathroom."
With no nature surrounding the tributes all those who survived the first day has been faced with the problem of where to relieve themselves. At the end of each corridor there's a small ditch they can use but finding said ditches is not always easy, though I suppose they can use their sense of smell to guide them. The sanitary conditions in the arena are getting worse by the day.
"How's Sally doing?" asks Peeta, taking a bite of pasta.
"Starving" I answer. "Dehydrated. In dire need of sponsorship."
"Any luck so far?"
I don't bother to answer that except to snort at him. He doesn't say anything further and we continue with our meal, the five of us eating in uncomfortable silence. I excuse myself as soon as I've scraped up the last off of my plate and I walk to our bedroom to freshen up a bit before my next sponsorship meeting.
Eyeing myself in the mirror I can't help but note what an unappealing sight I must be to the people I will be meeting with. I'm wearing no makeup and dark rings are visible underneath my eyes. I washed my hair this morning but something about the shampoo I used doesn't work for my hair and I can't seem to make it look nice. It just looks frizzled, like I haven't even tried brushing it. The rich Capitol people who are being more or less forced to come here for a meeting with me must find it very unappealing dealing with the likes of me begging them to spend money on a tribute they don't care about.
The bedroom door opens and I turn to glance at Peeta through the open bathroom door. I see him removing his pants and taking a seat on the bed, a bottle of ointment in his hand. Casting a final glance at myself in the mirror I decide I can't do much about my appearance and I turn off the lights in the bathroom and join Peeta in our main room.
"How's your leg?" I ask.
"It's okay" he says, though the scar tissue on his stump looks irritated. "What time is your next sponsor meeting?"
"In ten minutes" I say. With a sigh I sit down beside him. "Be thankful I'm not Tommy's mentor. I really, really stink at acquiring sponsors."
Rubbing his stump with a thoughtful expression on his face Peeta turns to look at me.
"She needs sponsorship pretty bad right now, doesn't she?"
"Well she's not going to survive without food or water" I reply dryly, feeling my frustration rise. "God, it's so unfair Peeta! They're throwing money on the damn career tributes but they are no better than Sally or Tommy, no more deserving. They're not all that interesting this year, either. The only one I found to be interesting at all fell on a damn firecracker and earned himself a cannon shot."
"Fairness has never been a staple of the Games."
"It's even more unfair that the tributes have to rely so heavily on their mentors to get a sponsor" I mutter.
Peeta looks at me with his brow furrowed. I know I should try and wipe the scowl off my face before going down to the meeting but I find some form of relief in ranting about it to my husband. He puts his prosthetic back in place and reaches for his pants.
"Katniss. Do you want me to take the meeting instead?"
I give him a confused look.
"What?"
"I know how much you hate those meetings and to be honest with you, the direr your tribute's need is the worse you get at charming people into forking money over." He stands up and buttons his pants. "We both know I'm better at it so if you want I can take the meeting."
"You would do that?" I ask with scepticism.
"She's my tribute as well, even though my focus is on Tommy" he says. "I can't just sit up here and have my eyes glued to my nephew when he's in no present danger and meanwhile let Sally die of thirst when I could have done something to prevent it. If you want me to handle the meeting I will."
I stand up and place my hands on his shoulders, softly kissing his lips.
"Thank you."
"Don't thank me yet" he says. "I can't guarantee they'll give her money."
"No but you upped her chances by circa a million."
He raises an eyebrow at me in a teasing manner, then heads for the door.
"I should get going."
"Want me to keep an eye on Tommy for you?" I ask.
"No… Not unless you want to." He stops with his hand on the doorknob. "Haymitch has it under control and I've got my pager."
"Okay" I nod slowly.
He leaves and I close my eyes for a second, taking a deep breath, filled with relief and gratitude.
Later that afternoon I'm perched on the couch watching the screen in lack of better things to do. Peeta won't be back upstairs until he's done with his sponsorship meetings and the ones that are scheduled for Tommy's benefit will probably go on until dinner. I'm not expecting to hear any news about how his meeting for Sally went until then but I'm very impatient to find out.
Currently I'm following the main feed, which shows the career pack stalking the boy from Eight. I find myself rooting for the poor kid, if for no other reason than for the sake of his mentors. They lost their girl yesterday – losing their boy today seems unnecessarily harsh. Unfortunately the poor kid is not yet aware that he's being stalked so the odds do not seem to be in his favour. The fact that the main feed is showing this chase is a good sign for us in Twelve. That means this is the most interesting development at the moment which in turn means that both our tributes are doing alright.
"We should herd him off into a tunnel" whispers the girl from Four, a smirk that I can only describe as sinister on her face.
"We could have a lot of fun with him at a dead end" replies the boy from One with a grin. "Heh, get it? Dead end!"
I snort and roll my eyes, disliking these creepers with every fibre of my being. I sincerely hope that the next mentor in our club won't be one of them. I hope they all die early on in the Games, for once, leaving the more likeable tributes to fight it out. I know it's very wrong of me to think of it in terms of who deserves to survive the most but I can't help feeling these kids don't deserve it at the slightest. Not as tributes, anyway.
I watch with an uncomfortable knot in my stomach as the boy from Eight finally becomes aware of his followers and attempts to get away. I know there's no use. They chase him into a corridor and just like they were hoping it is a dead end. Feeling sick to my stomach at what is about to happen next I grab the remote and switch to Sally's feed. I don't need to see the boy meet his demise on live television. I'll be forced to watch the replay several times and that is more than enough.
My jaw drops a little when Sally comes into view. She's holding a large canteen in her hands and is taking several deep gulps of water. A silver parachute is thrown over her shoulder and the hand that isn't holding the canteen has a small pouch that clearly isn't empty.
I feel so relieved I could almost cry. Peeta. The thought of him makes my heart swell with love and gratitude. Wonderful Peeta. He managed to get her sponsorship money and instead of wasting time talking to me he went ahead and sent her the things he knows I want her to have. Water, and perhaps even some food.
The smile vanishes from my face as the sound of a cannon fills the air. Sally freezes and then slowly sets the canteen down, screwing its lid back on. She shudders slightly and then places the canteen in her bag and gets moving. I wonder if she has any thoughts at all about who just died and who was responsible for it. I try to remember if I had any such thoughts during my own turn in the arena but all I can remember wondering about was whether or not it was Peeta. I strongly doubt that Sally is worried that Tommy might have been the one just killed.
Then I suddenly get an almost panicked feeling in my chest. How do I know that it isn't? Just because the careers are pursuing the boy from Eight that doesn't mean Tommy is safe. There might be another canon any minute signalling that more than one tribute has just been killed. With sweaty hands I grab the remote again and switch over to Tommy's feed.
He's alive and I exhale with relief. Then I begin to wonder what he's doing. He's crouched on the ground, at the moment holding completely still as if waiting to see if there will be more than one boom from the canons. Then he turns his face forward and begins to crawl in a catlike manner, his hands and feet being the only parts that touch ground, and at first I can't figure out what he's doing. Then there's a change in camera angles and I see that he's on a patch of floor that's divided into sections of squares, almost like tiles, each one with a different symbol on it. I can't make out what the symbols are and if it hadn't been for the death of another tribute only a minute or two ago I would have switched to Claudius and Caesar and hope that they would explain it to us. The other tribute's death, however, means that whatever Tommy is doing is most likely deemed uninteresting or at least less worthy of on-screen attention. I will have to wait until this evening's broadcast to find out what's really going on.
Tommy carefully observes the ground before making movements forward. Three times he places his hand somewhere and quickly retracts it. I watch him breathlessly for what feels like an hour but probably doesn't amount to more than a few minutes. Finally he reaches the end of the sectioned floor and quickly scrambles to his feet. Then a smile spreads across his face, a wide and beautiful one that reminds me of Peeta's, and another change in camera angles shows me the reason why he's so pleased. For the second time today I come close to crying with relief.
He's found a supply station.
Immediately he grabs a fruit from a bowl and shoves it into his mouth. I hold my breath for a second, praying that there's nothing inedible at that station but he seems to be fine. His eyes travel back and forth between various containers of food, fruits, nuts, crackers and four large bottles of water. He won't be able to bring it all with him but maybe he's thinking he doesn't have to. It could be that he can return here and get more supplies when he finishes whatever he takes now. On the other hand the gamemakers might simply destroy anything he doesn't take.
He opens a large rectangular metal canteen and I can almost smell the delicious dish I see inside. It's not the lamb stew I fancy so much but it's a similar dish they sometimes serve, made from pork and vegetables. Hastily Tommy grabs one of the large water bottles and turns it upside down, washing the dirt off his hands. When he deems them suitably clean he shoves them into the canteen, lifting up a fistful of rice and stew. I don't have to imagine how hungry he must be right now. Even so he only takes a small bite at first, waiting a couple of minutes to see if he'll have a bad reaction to it. When nothing bad happens he proceeds to scoop up more food and within five minutes has finished the entire dish.
With a grin on his face he opens his bag and surveys the selection in front of him. He grabs one of the water bottles but leaves the rest. Just as well. A litre of water weighs one kilo and the less weight he carries around the better. Though he does take the time to fill his canteen as well before being done with the water. He then grabs some beef jerky, some fruit and picks up two other canteens of unknown content. There's still at least five times that amount of food left but he won't be able to carry much else at the moment. Still he hesitates for a moment before nodding slightly to himself and turning back around.
Three seconds later he stops abruptly, nearly falling over. Probably around two thirds of the sections of the floor have disappeared, leaving a large chasm to cross and only a handful of pillar looking floor tiles to cross it on. He looks frightened and bewildered for a moment and takes a step back but when another tile slowly begins to sink he rushes forward and makes a short leap, landing rather wobbly on the nearest section. I sit up straight, covering my mouth with my hand. Is Peeta watching this? They must have paged him. He needs to not be sucking up to sponsors right now and to watch this.
Moving from one section to another Tommy slowly makes his way across the chasm, though it's clear that he doesn't have much time to get all the way across. Bile rises in my throat at the thought of how sick this all is. Make it difficult for a tribute to reach a supply station and then punish them when they succeed. It's right up the gamemakers' alley which means it's too sick for words. What is the entertainment here? Is it all in the suspense? Did they need to activate this just moments after another tribute died? Why not lure him into a false sense of security with the supply station and pull this on him the next time he comes back?
Not that it would help him in the end.
With a cry he leaps the last remaining stretch to the safe ground on the other side, falling heavily as he touches ground, curling up on his side for a moment. I worry that he's injured himself but he soon sits up and looks across the now wide chasm at the supply station still full of food and water. Within his sight but probably never within his reach again. A single tear falls down his cheek, drawing a line in the dirt he's smeared on his face as camouflage, but he says nothing. Then after a moment he takes his eyes off the unreachable station and looks inside his bag to check that everything made it across. It seems nothing got damaged but I wonder if he was ever tempted to simply toss the water and the canteens into the chasm to get rid of some of the extra weight.
On slightly wobbly legs he rises and turns his back to the supply station, heading off into the tunnel again.
When it's time for the evening broadcast everyone gathers in front of the large screen. A pair of avoxes place bowls of fruit and glasses of wine in front of us and I can see from the corner of my eye how Haymitch keeps sending his glass longing looks. So far he's kept his word and not had any alcohol during these Games, and he's not even very fond of wine, but it looks like the temptation is weighing heavily on him. Without a word I lean forward and grab his glass, emptying its contents into my own glass and Peeta's. I'm not so sure it's a good idea letting Peeta have a lot of alcohol since he didn't eat much at dinner today either but at least Peeta will have just the one buzz and then sleep it off.
Claudius and Caesar are at the top of their game when the broadcast starts, explaining to us all how marvellously exciting it has been to watch children die today. They spend the first five minutes merely talking about the thrill of the chase when the poor boy from Eight got killed. Then we get to see the footage of his final moments in all its uncut glory. The poor child finally met his end when the corridor he was in turned out to lead nowhere. The boy, age fourteen, curled up on the ground in front of the dirt wall and held up his arms as if to shield his face, begging for mercy the entire time. I always hate it when tributes do that, not because I begrudge them the right to react that way but because very much begrudge the careers the laughter and the joy they get from it.
It was the girl from Two who did him in, the others cheering her on the entire time. Emalda makes a sound like she's nearly gagging and empties half of the wine in her glass in just a few gulps. We then cut from the arena back to Claudius and Caesar who are laughing along with the careers and making comments as if this were a game of soccer and one of the teams just scored a really nice goal.
"This is not the only excitement we've had today, though" says Caesar. "Mere minutes after the dramatic scene we just saw, another tribute balanced on the edge of life or death. Literally! Let's take a look."
They haven't shown anything at all about Tommy on the main feed since the boy from Eight died, no doubt because Magnus wants to milk both happenings for all they are worth and with them happening back to back this was probably the more exciting way to go. Tommy's friends and family back home in Twelve have had no way of knowing if he's alright or not since they haven't gotten to see him at all. Usually each tribute is shown at least once per hour, even if only for a fleeting second, so that the viewers know what everyone in the arena is up to. I know the family back home are aware that even though they haven't gotten to see him he is still alive, because otherwise his death would have been shown. They do know, however, that something has happened since they've avoided showing him.
Now they broadcast Tommy's struggle to get to the supply station, his excitement at finding the food and water, and his dramatic retreat. They've cut it down a little bit but for the most part they show everything. Commentary from Caesar and Claudius is intercut with the footage from the arena. Caesar praises Tommy's ingenuity and gusto while Claudius calls him indecisive and clumsy. The bantering is a technique they use quite often to balance out the commentary. Magnus does not want them to praise a tribute too much nor talk them down too heavily.
"It's a good thing Tommy found a supply station" says Caesar when the clips of Tommy are finished. "His district partner has had nowhere near that same success. Lucky for her, sponsors came through. Let's relive that moment, shall we?"
I get an uncomfortable feeling in the pit of my stomach and I glance over at Haymitch who is looking at me with a face similar to how I feel. Juxtaposing our two tributes this way is not very good for us. It paints Sally in a negative light as she is shown to be unable to provide for herself while Tommy most definitely earned his food and water today. It can also make people wonder why Peeta, Haymitch and I went to the trouble of getting sponsorship money for Sally but haven't sent anything to Tommy yet. Sally hasn't done all that much to draw attention to sponsors on her own so it must be obvious that we were the driving forces behind that parachute.
To make matters worse Claudius announces that they have some electrifying behind-the-scenes insight to the whole situation. We are then treated to audio of Peeta's conversation with Ryean the day before. Beside me I see Peeta closing his eyes and leaning his head back, swallowing hard. I feel my own heart pound in my chest as I hear the no doubt heavily edited phone call being broadcast to the entire nation. It's mostly Ryean accusing Peeta of being negligent and not taking care of his son. They really manage to make it sound like the two brothers are on the phone talking about what unfolded today, and not like it's something previously recorded.
Peeta doesn't stay to listen to the entire thing. He gets up and walks out of the room. I want to follow him but I can't seem to draw myself away from what I'm hearing. Ryean really sounds scared and angry and Maggie can be heard crying in the background. Peeta doesn't get to say much, just enough so that they can segue into other criticizing comments from his brother.
"Ryean is not going to be happy about this" mutters Haymitch under his breath. "Not that he was ever particularly jolly…"
"This is a disaster" I say, my voice a touch hoarse. "Even for them this is low." I feel a lump in my throat. "They want to take our nephew away – do they really have to try so hard to alienate Peeta from his brother in the process?"
"If Tommy makes it to the final eight I really hope his father is suffering from laryngitis when it's time to shoot the interviews."
The reminder of the interviews sends another shudder through me. I can't not hope for those interviews to happen but the idea of seeing my brother-in-law go off on another bitter tangent against my husband makes me wish he didn't have vocal chords. Not to mention whatever acid Tommy's grandmother might spew. Under any other circumstances I wouldn't have worried about it since the interviews are supposed to be about the tributes and not their family members, even if they are mentors. As it is right now though the gamemakers will probably throw as much fuel on the fire as possible and try to weave some "exciting" story about brotherly betrayal. Snow would love a development like that, an opportunity to paint Peeta in a negative light.
I stay on the couch with Haymitch, Emalda and the stylists until the broadcast has reached its end. Haymitch takes the remote and switches to Sally's feed, showing her chewing on a piece of bread she must have gotten with the parachute. She looks run-down but a little less on edge now that she's got some water. Just the fact that she got a parachute to begin with has hopefully lifted her morale a bit. It's a comfort unlike anything you'll ever know outside the arena, having somebody send you a parachute. It's confirmation that there are people out there who are willing to get involved to help you live.
Haymitch switches over to Tommy, who has laid down on the ground with his bag for a pillow and pulled the blanket over himself. He looks exhausted. The ashen curls that are so similar to Peeta's seem damp with sweat or humidity and many of them are dark from mud. The ground he's lying on seems to be made of dirt, which won't make a mess but is probably really hard. I wonder how sore the tributes feel in the morning after spending their nights like that. I wonder if any of them except for the careers are able to relax. There's nowhere to hide or shield yourself. If somebody comes walking down the path you're in while you're sleeping then you probably won't wake up again.
When I retreat to our bedroom I'm surprised to find it empty. I just assumed Peeta went here but that was obviously wrong. I wonder where else he could be at this hour. The roof perhaps? Wherever he is I hope he comes back soon because it's getting late and I'm tired. I want to go to bed and lay in his arms.
I get through my bedtime routine and have just pulled the bedspread aside when the door opens and Peeta walks in. He looks about as tired and haggard as I would expect him to under current circumstances, his eyes bloodshot and his blonde curls sticking out in every direction as if he's been running his hand through his hair time and time again. My first assumption is that he's been downstairs to have a drink but he doesn't appear intoxicated when he mumbles a greeting and heads for the bathroom.
"Where were you?" I ask when he comes back out a few minutes later and pulls his shirt over his head.
"Went to the conference room."
I nod slightly.
"Tommy was sleeping, was he not?"
"Yeah." He reaches under his pillow and pulls out his pyjamas. "I wasn't expecting anything else. I just couldn't sit there and listen to that conversation being played for the entire country."
I don't know what to say to make him feel better so I say nothing. I'm sitting up on the bed with my knees bent, tired but not ready to try and go to sleep until he has climbed into bed. While he finishes changes into his pyjamas and fidgets with his prosthetic I run my hand up and down my bare leg, feeling the dark hairs that the Capitol seems to find so revolting.
"I'm being prepped on Friday" I say.
He freezes mid-motion and looks at me, a trace of horror written on his face. Surely he can't be taken aback by this. I didn't mean it as a surprising revelation, just as small talk before bed.
"I…" he begins. "Seriously, they're doing it this year too?"
"Of course they are" I snarl, irritated by his reaction.
He frowns and lifts the comforter so he can get underneath it. I follow his example and reach for the lamp on my nightstand.
"With everything else they're putting us through this year I thought they'd at least spare us that" he mumbles under his breath.
"Don't be naïve. The words empathy and sympathy and compassion don't exist in Capitol dictionaries. Seriously, I've checked."
"Come on, who would even expect that from us?" he asks, sounding upset. "It's too much! They're asking too much."
"If it can help our nephew I'm more than willing to do it" I say curtly. "It's not like we don't know the procedure back and forth and upside down. Just switch to autopilot." I roll my eyes and repeat a phrase the victors like to throw around sarcastically. "Lie back and think of Panem."
He snorts but doesn't offer any further comments. My desire to seek out his body underneath the covers has faded away. I roll over on my side, facing away from him, wondering how much more of this emotional rollercoaster we can take.
This is my last update of this story for 2014! Thanks to all of you who have stayed with the story and I hope you all have a great holiday season and a happy new year! See you all in 2015, I hope =)