"Shhh! Quiet, will you? You know we're not supposed to wake her. You don't wake up a Victor, remember?"
"We can't let her sleep all day, can we? There's too much to do."
The heavy goose down comforter, bundled over my head, muffles the strange voices that stir me from my sleep. I lie awake for a moment and try to figure out who exactly is in my room before I peek out from under the pristine white fabric.
Two figures stand at the edge of my bed quietly hissing and hushing each other. From the way they are dressed, it is hard to see someone with half a shaved head of purple hair or puffy orange spikes as a threat. Although, the quiet one with straight, long black hair standing on the other side of the room idly toying with a nail file, leaves me wary.
"Oh look! She's awake!" the orange one squeals in delight, clapping his hands together.
"How can you tell?" his partner asks, tucking a strand of purple hair behind her ear as she leans forward looking for any signs of life.
"See her darling little eyes under that nest of hair?"
My fingers hold the blanket firmly across the bridge of my nose and I remain silent. Where were Flavius, Octavia and Venia? Who the hell were these people in my room and why didn't I hear them come in?
The woman with the black hair steps forward, twisting the tip of the nail file against the pad of her finger, "I suggest you come out from there soon so we can get started. Darling." She forces a smile that makes me grip the blanket tighter.
She is much taller than her counterparts especially with the impressive height added by her shoes. Wearing only black, just like her hair, she is plainer than Cinna – not a speck of color, and even her lips appear to be grey. Her accent, husky and as dark as her appearance, is quite Capitol with an extra flourish.
"Who are you? Where's Effie?" I croak beneath the covers.
"She is downstairs taking care of other arrangements. My name is Claudia Simard. My assistants are Bolland and Veronica. We will be your prep team for this evening," she says, tucking her hands behind her back.
Her demeanor is quite mature, especially compared to her associates, but with the possible alterations and body manipulations, she doesn't look a day over twenty. From what I have seen so far, if she has been altered, it wasn't cheap; the only thing hinting at her actual age are her eyes, which seem to be the only display of any color at all – a stunning ice blue.
I sit up slightly and see that a table and chairs have already been set up along with a small cart full of cosmetic supplies and another with food. How did I not hear them come in? Did I sleep through their preparations?
"No. Wait." I rub my eyes and sit forward, no longer hiding behind the shield of the blanket. "Cinna is my stylist. Are you sure you have the right room?"
Claudia rolls her eyes with a huff, "Yes, Miss Katniss Everdeen: Victor of the 74th Hunger Games from District 12, room 1208. Recently engaged to Mister Peeta Mellark, who shares you status as Victor." Taking a breath, she sweeps her arm across the room to the bathroom, "Now if you would please, get up so we can get started."
Bolland nods with a smile, perfect white teeth peering behind blue lips and he mimics her gesture.
"Come on dear," Veronica sings cheerfully and begins to pull back my blanket. On impulse, my fingers tighten over the fabric and hold it in place across my lap. Six incredibly unfamiliar eyes widen at my stubbornness. Even though I am dressed in a shirt and underwear, I suddenly feel self-conscious. With my other prep team, I can lounge around all day naked in front of them, but something isn't right about today or the new people in my room.
I clear my throat and nod to the other room, "I'm sorry, if you wouldn't mind?"
Again, Claudia rolls her eyes and then shoos the others out of the room so I can make the trip to the bathroom in privacy. My wake-up call was unsettling and I need a moment to gather myself.
Once inside, I lock the door and pace the room, my bare feet padding along the heated tile. I still can't get over the fact I slept through their entire set up, let alone the entire night. The Games are in a few days and I fear I'm losing it. I've always been a light sleeper, even more so since last year. I stop for a moment, rub my eyes and examine the small flakes of sand on my fingertips.
"Out like a light," I sigh and disrobe for my shower, which has been programmed with exotic oils and perfumes mixed with the hot water. Even though I showered the night before, I need time to think. The sweet scents mixed with steam always helped me relax too.
Three more days until the Games; three more days to reassess my training and capabilities all while being paraded around a party, in front of the Gamemakers and all of Panem.
I can't fight. I can't even get to sleep on my own and when I tried Johanna's remedy, I couldn't even do that right. How can I help Peeta if I can't even help myself?
There is a pounding at the bathroom door. Through the static hiss of the water, I can barely make out the annoyed and desperate cries of my prep team for me to hurry up. I watch the water slowly spiral down the drain and the steam lift the aroma of jasmine and almond to my nose.
Last year, nothing was expected of me. Now, I am expected to die, take down the Capitol or both. They expect a girl, who last night, got off on the idea of being choked by her pretend fiance the same way when she was raped, to be the face of the rebellion? A girl who suffers from nightmares. A girl who killed four careers, but can't stand up to one Peacekeeper. A useless seventeen-year-old girl who just started her period four weeks ago, is expected to be their hero.
At least I will smell pretty when the countdown starts.
-o-
"Absolutely gorgeous!"
"Wonderful!"
"It will do I guess."
Two hours later, my makeup is easily much heavier than what I wore for the opening ceremonies. My hair is piled on top of my head and is held in place with a diamond tiara. Not only are the shoes uncomfortable, the strapless gown that pools to the floor is oddly fitting - too tight in areas and much too loose in others. The dark green sequined gown has a slit that runs clear up to my waist, revealing my entire right leg.
Cinna would have never put me in something like this, especially in four-inch heels. My reflection is nothing like the proud girl I saw last night; the girl I see looks five years older and in no way resembles the Victor my sponsors saw in my last interview with Caesar.
"This isn't one of Cinna's. Why didn't he dress me for tonight?" I ask, tugging at the bust of my gown. They very well could have mentioned it before, but ten minutes into the prep, I tuned out their ramblings. I also didn't feel very talkative after they decided to wax everything. That involved a half-hour-long fight – but when Claudia pulled me aside and slid her hand around the back of my neck, talking softly and sternly about my duties and following the rules, I reluctantly returned to my place on the prep table and remained silent.
Everything about this prep feels wrong, and now I'm starting to worry about Cinna and even my idiot team.
For the first time, Claudia looks uneasy at my mention of Cinna. Her eyes drop and she clasps her hands behind her back. "Tonight's event is a slightly different affair. All arrangements are by request of the sponsors. Cinna's services were requested elsewhere this evening."
"So, one of the sponsors wanted me in this?" I ask, looking down at my painted toes peaking out from the cheap green material.
"Yes. Mrs. Papaver designed this especially for you. She is quite a fan of the Games and Cinna's work. Let's say he inspired her to try her hand at fashion," Claudia says with a politely forced smile.
I look back at the mirror and before I can make any sound of complaint, Claudia continues, "Mrs. Papaver is one of the top sponsors - Your primary sponsor. So I would expect you to be cordial about it. President Snow also expects you to cooperate with this evening's events."
Wonderful: more rules, more cooperation and more expectations. Figures. It's Peeta that needs to "wow" the sponsors this time. They shouldn't waste their money on me.
Claudia chews on a black thumbnail and ponders for a moment on how to make this outfit a little less atrocious. Her hand drops back to her side with a sigh, "Well, we did what we could. If we had an earlier start... Oh well, we had best be on our way."
-o-
"Shut up. I swear I'll shove this shoe down your throat." I hiss at Peeta as I enter the elevator. He keeps a straight face, but he's holding his breath.
Fortunately for him, Portia dressed him tonight, and his beautifully, perfectly tailored silver suit keeps me from kicking him in the leg for laughing at me. Diamonds are carefully placed on his cuff links and collar to coincide with tonight's theme - Diamonds and gold for the 75th anniversary of the games.
"No really, you look lovely. It's a pretty green," Peeta says, pressing his lips together.
Watching the muscles in his jaw quiver, I quickly drop my gaze to his hands. There's no way he could know what I imagined him doing with those hands, yet I suddenly feel like he knows everything.
"You're lucky Portia's services weren't requested elsewhere, too." I cross my arms and lean against the glass, turning my eyes to the numbers counting down to the lobby. The tiny piece of fabric they insisted on calling underwear is riding on some very raw skin.
"So this isn't one of Cinna's new amazing creations that will take Panem by storm?" His hand sweeps at my ensemble. He steps closer and places a hand at my hip. "It even has pockets."
My chest tightens and I hold my breath. This elevator is starting to feel a lot smaller than before.
I clear my throat and keep my eyes on the numbers, willing the decent to go faster. "Mrs. Papaver, our sponsor, wanted to try her hand at fashion I guess. You had better do what you do best and tell her something nice."
"What's that?"
"How you talk to people. Everything you say is the right thing to say, even if it is a lie," I say, finally looking at him and I see his smirk fade.
"Lies?" Peeta almost sounds hurt by my statement.
"Don't get me wrong," I continue, "I mean, it's gotten us this far in the first place, right? The interviews, our relationship, the Victory Tour, everything. Everything you say has such confidence, you could tell Effie her hair looks natural or tell Snow his breath doesn't stink, and they would believe it."
"My lies have gotten us this far?" he repeats my words slowly with a knitted brow.
I turn back to watch the numbers. A few more seconds and we will be at the lobby where I am eager for the distraction from my poorly placed words.
"Never mind," I breathe, "I shouldn't have said anything."
Peeta clears his throat and steps directly in front of me, blocking my view of the door. "It's the truth that has gotten us this far. It's you, Katniss, that has gotten us this far." My stomach flutters again at the low gruff of his voice, flashing a memory from last night of his breath on my neck, and the sound of my name on his lips.
His words aren't in a defensive tone, which I find surprising. He pauses, waiting for me to look at him.
"Katniss, nothing I have said is a lie, it's all real. We've gotten this far because of you. You've taken the lead every time, and you fight, Katniss. You fight for everything that is good in this world." Peeta lifts his hand to his hair to run his fingers through it, but remembers its held in place by styling gel.
Dropping his hand, he takes a breath and continues, no longer looking at me. "I guess you're right. All I am good for are my words. If you hadn't found me..." His mouth opens and closes. His eyes find mine again. "Katniss. I've never lied. I don't have the kind of skills you do."
My words are caught in my throat as the elevator doors chime a happy little tune and open to the lobby.
We are quickly ushered down a grand hallway, which leads to an impressive set of oak doors with a beautifully grotesque carving of the first rebellion and the Capitol's victory. At the bottom, bodies form the foundation of a mountain, which citizens of Panem climb to the top where they find sanctuary under the Capitol flag. A reminder of how many lives were lost and how many were "saved."
When the doors are pulled open, the Capitol proves once again anything surrounding the Games shall be spared no expense. The event at Snow's mansion was a quaint affair compared to what is offered for us tonight.
It looks as if everyone who had contributed funds to the Games or a Tribute is in attendance. Silver and gold Capitolites already in the throws of mingling fill the room, making me feel incredibly self-conscious in my green ensemble. How can I blend in with this eyesore?
Projections bring the walls to life with images of landscapes from each district and blends into a portrait of each Victor at the exact moment of their achievement. Some show desperation, shock or even proud triumph smeared across their faces along with blood and grime. The photos then turn into our current Quell roster; faces although clean, still show the same resentment, fear and pride.
Images of Peeta and me appear more frequently with added graphics that make our crowning moment seem even more surreal than when it actually happened. A few posed shots of us during our engagement are showcased as well and we take that as our cue to link arms and smile.
We make our rounds to officially introduce ourselves to the money that can very well save our lives.
Peeta proves that his research is more valuable than just his words. Effie must have given him the entire guest list with an infographic for who's who when she found out she wouldn't be able to attend. Peeta's stack of notes of who could kill him paled in comparison to the mountain of who could save him.
He quietly whispers to me the names of politicians, entrepreneurs, inventors, Gamemakers, their wives and mistresses. I am happy to have him lead me through the sea of diamonds instead of a golden wig tugging at me in every direction.
"Why isn't Haymitch here?" I whisper over my champagne glass once we've made it to an hors d'oeuvres table.
Peeta shakes his head after taking a bite of a biscuit. He chews through his answer matter-of-factly, "Victors that are competing this year only. No mentors, no escorts. A final meet and greet, you could say."
"A last chance to squeeze some luck out of these sponsors, huh?" I mutter while looking around the room.
We meet most of the sponsors in the first hour. I am sure Peeta's shoulder is sporting a welt under his crisp jacket from all the claps on his back; praises not only of his victory but how he landed me as a prize as well. Each time he smiles and nods while I play up the embarrassed and cute act. We take that as another cue to give another kiss.
I should have stretched first to get ready for all of this acting. Not only were Peeta and I still playing the lovers, I had to sell this hideous gown, which everyone absolutely loved. Each time I dropped Mrs. Papaver's name, I could see a spark of jealousy flash in the eyes of the wives and mistresses. Thank goodness I won't be around to see what the fashion trends are next year after the sudden spark of "talent" these rich, bored women will suddenly acquire.
A bell chimes and we take our seats for dinner and speeches. Twelve large tables arc in front of the stage, eerily reminiscent of our platforms in the arena. Crystal bowls as centerpieces add to the Games theme. For each table, a different element has been arranged inside of the bowl representing each District: Jewels for 1, sand and seashells for 4, pinecones and twigs for 7 and chunks of coal for 12. Nestled on top of each, burns two small candles. Cinna's fire themes must still be popular because twelve more candles surround each bowl.
Caesar Flickermann takes the stage and gives a brief, yet somewhat heartfelt speech about some of the notable Victor's from the past. He spoke of Taro Lockyere, winner of the first Hunger Games and how he set the standard of mentorship. Flint Cardoux and his zero kill victory was notable but not as such when it came to Relic Marston's victory that scored one less kill than Taro with eleven. Five of those were with his bare hands, Caesar said with clenched teeth, shaking his fists in front of him.
His fierce grin turned to a soft smile when he pointed to Mags and spoke of how she caught the attention of a nation as she sat on those rocks by the river, nude. She was almost the perfect picture of a majestic mythical creature from before the Dark Days - And so began the sponsorship.
Those who were so touched by a tribute's actions and demeanor felt they should lend a helping hand. Those with the means not to just support the tribute but Panem in funding the tradition of the contract between country and its people, still in its infancy.
Caeser brings Finnick to the stage who brings along cheers and whistles of the sponsors.
Finnick clears his throat and taps the microphone. When it gives a satisfying pop, he shoots his winning smile at the crowd. Mrs. Papaver and her husband sigh and lean forward, reflecting the other sponsors' star struck reaction to the flash of white.
"Good evening. We are gathered here tonight, as a thank you to those who, without your generous support and patriotism, aided us in our journey to become Victors."
He pauses for the immanent applause, and when it settles, a genuine smile lingers on his lips. "My dear mentor, and now, District partner, Mags." Finnick places a hand on his chest and extends the other to his table.
"Maggie Somerley from District 4. Victor of the 12th Hunger Games. And one of the most beautiful Victors I might add." Mags blushes and waves Finnick away. She bashfully covers her face when her image lights up the screen behind Finnick. A seventeen-year-old girl, whose only resemblance to the woman who sits at the table with seashells and sand, were her eyes.
Radiant skin glowing against the rocks, long legs tucked under her as she calmly ties an intricate, invisible knot with threads of hair. She was slender, but not weak. Wide shoulders showed a swimmer's physique and not an inch of her body untouched by the sun.
I can see how those who saw that girl wanted to contribute somehow to her victory. Thankfully, she was skilled enough on her own. Mags lured the other tributes along the rocks where she had set traps for them. Once the cannon sounded, she'd push the bodies in to the river where the current, which turned into rapids, removed the bodies.
Her final kill was not as easy: a boy from 2 traversed the rocks with ease and followed her into the water. Unbeknownst to him, he fell into her greatest trap; a carefully crafted net, submerged a few meters downstream, would bury the boy under water.
"The 13th Games were the first time sponsors were able to contribute for gifts of food and supplies. Soon, weapons were added to the catalog. Woof was the first to receive such a gift in the 16th Games," Finnick continued. More images of past games show tributes looking to the sky for their silver parachute and devouring their food gifts or admiring their new weapons.
"Woof. What weapon did you receive? Woof?" Finnick called to table 8. Cecelia elbows him and repeats Finnick's question. Woof swells with pride once he understands and shouts his answer. "A pickax!"
"A yes, a pickax in the clever hands of our dear Woof. He also took out three tributes with one boulder!" Finnick tries to manage an entertaining tone, feeding the sponsors with flair.
The Victors bowed their heads at the thought of the many lives that were so brutally destroyed. But this event was for the sponsors, and the more they are reminded of the blood and glory, the looser their wallets should be by Game time.
"Hey Finnick!" District 7's table clatters. "Aren't you gonna ask me what lovely gift I received from our dear sponsors? Since Blight here made such an impression mentoring."
Finnick clears his throat and poses with his hands clasped behind his back. He knows the story quite well and anticipates Johanna's outburst.
"Joanna Mason, everyone. Victor of the 71st Hunger Games."
"No thanks to you guys," she chimes in, cutting applause short.
She was right. One other person besides her district partner shared their table and he was Blight's main sponsor who paid for medicine when his allies betrayed him and left him to choke on his severed tongue.
"Johanna reminds us that although our lovely Capitol is the heart of this great nation, strength and perseverance are what moves us and makes us proud of such Districts like 7."
Johanna snorts and sits back down when Finnick gives a small, soft grin. It seems he is the only one who can keep her in line.
Sitting at our table are Mr. and Mrs. Papaver and another couple a few years younger, not yet married but displaying a much more convincing attraction to each other than Peeta and I.
Last year's Games were their first time sponsoring. Acantha and Garret were the ones who donated the most money, which paid for the medicine and sleep serum.
They are the ones we owe our lives to, and of course Haymitch for convincing them to sponsor us.
Acantha, about twenty-four, has unnaturally red hair, cascading down to the middle of her backless gown. Red eyes flash in my direction. They stand out in the stark contrast to her black gown, encrusted with black jewels. Her slender fingers are tipped with the same fiery red as her hair. Her mouth, a beacon against her white skin draws the most attention.
Her partner, Garret, almost the exact opposite; short cropped bleached white hair, plays against his tanned skin. His suit all white save for the red trim and a red pocket square. His hands, soft and well manicured are the simplest feature he owns, and they never stop touching Acantha.
A pure white smile matches his white eyes, framed with black eyebrows; his ocular fashion statement is almost haunting.
"And most recently, we had our most historical Games with not one, but two Victors," Finnick announces as our table lights up and all eyes are on us. I should be used to the attention by now but among the other tributes it feels as if this is another play by the Gamemakers to single us out – giving the others another reason on their long list to kill us first.
"Love being their strongest weapon and tool of survival. But like most of us here, they couldn't have done it without sponsors. Peeta. Katniss. Introduce us to your sponsors."
A round of applause gives me a moment to ask Peeta to speak. All he needed was for me to squeeze his hand. He pats my leg and stands up, clearing his throat; he addresses the room with squinting eyes against the harsh spot light.
"Good evening everyone. As Finnick mentioned, we couldn't have won without Mr. and Mrs. Papaver and especially Garret Winters and Acantha Miller who helped Katniss in her most dyer time of need, donating enough for the burn cream after the fire storm."
All eyes shifted from Peeta to me. I give my best smile and lean over to take Acantha's hand and say thanks. Before I can pull away, her thumb caresses the back of my hand and the fiery red eyes become piercing. I feel myself blush and gently bring my hand back to my lap.
Peeta turns to the couple that was again showing a dramatic display of affection for each other, looking like proud parents as Peeta thanked them for their gifts.
He continues about our time in the cave, "And although I do greatly appreciate the medicine you funded, I can't say I much liked the sleep syrum." The crowd erupts in laughter, eating up every bit of Peeta's speech.
"But seriously, to our wonderful sponsors, we couldn't have done it without you. I hope one of us can extend our gratitude again the next time we meet."
Oh yes, definite crying at a few tables now.
Peeta sits down with the applause and he leans over to give me a kiss, which I play up a little more than usual, riding on the emotions of the crowd. Maybe this dinner is was a good idea. We are now gaining more attention for our District than it ever had in twenty years.
I look around the room and see Chaff and Seeder's table and realize there is still one more mention of gratitude to give. I stand up and the crowd immediately goes quiet.
"I wanted to thank Chaff and Seeder from District 11 for sharing with me one of their sponsored gifts meant for Rue."
Everyone looks around, trying to figure out who had exactly put up the money for the bread I received.
"I know it was the people of 11 that came together and managed enough for that bread, and for you, as mentors to send it my way-"
A loud tap pops over the speakers as the microphone comes to life again. Caesar interrupts with a classic chuckle, bringing the attention back to the stage. Peeta tugs on my wrist and sits me back down.
"Sponsor's party, remember?" Peeta whispers in my ear. "I'm sure all of 11 knows how thankful you are. Or did you forget our visit during the tour?"
I open my mouth and close it in embarrassment. I feel as if no matter how many times I give my thanks to 11, I will forever be in debt. I know I didn't want an alliance with anyone, but hopefully this will improve my chances with 11 and they will either spare me again, like Thresh, or kill me as quickly as possible.
Caesar makes the announcement of dessert and drinks, a cue for more mingling.
Peeta and I find our way in a small circle with Finnick and Johanna and I see I am not the only one uncomfortable in the supplied fashion of the night.
"For fuck's sake, another tree themed piece of shit. I swear, I'm starting to look forward to the arena," Johanna tugs at the stiff brown material around her neck with one hand while a neon blue drink sits in the other.
"My gown has pockets," I say and shove both hands in the front of my dress, wiggling my fingers to show off the new trend. "We're almost done for tonight right?"
Finnick clears his throat and finds sudden interest in a loose thread on the front of his jacket. Johanna coughs as she chokes on a laugh.
"You can't be serious? Finnick, they don't know?" Johanna takes a seat at the nearest table and puts her feet up on an adjacent chair. "Not for you guys, it's not."
I look to Peeta and he just gives a shrug.
"Haymitch or Effie didn't give you a heads up?" Finnick asks. "Oh boy."
"A couple of 'thank you's' and handshakes ain't gonna compensate those sponsors for their contributions. Lucky for me, I only have to thank myself," Johanna chuckles again, waving her fingers as she finishes her drink.
