The first day of training goes by uneventfully. Haymitch spends most of his day with Chaff; they share a hearty laugh with Brutus as they all watch Johanna strip naked and oil herself up at the wrestling station.
For some reason Haymitch wants me to feel out the other tributes as possible allies, even though he's the one who's known them for years. But Peeta and I decided to trust Haymitch when we agreed to let him be my district partner, so I do as he asks. I rotate from training station to training station, always working with different people. I start out at the knot-tying station with Finnick, who it turns out is a whiz at knots and winds up teaching me as much as the trainer does. I find that Finnick isn't that bad a guy when he's not being obnoxiously flirty. At one point he fashions a noose and pretends to hang himself for my amusement.
After that I learn to start fires with Wiress and Beetee from Three. The way Wiress will trail off in the middle of a sentence and Beetee will finish it for her is a bit disconcerting at first, but they make decent company. They show me how to recognize the small imperfections that give away the presence of a forcefield separating the training area from the loft where the Gamemakers sit. I guess they don't want me shooting another arrow at them. Maybe they shouldn't have reaped me again.
At lunch all the tables are dragged together so the Victors can all eat together, earning glares of disapproval from the Peacekeepers on guard. They don't like this camaraderie between tributes any more than they did at the parade last night, but once again they make no move to stop us.
Of course Haymitch wants us to have lunch with his friend Chaff. "Don't worry, I know better than to play around with you now," Chaff says, his hand unconsciously rubbing his throat.
"Good," is all I say. I exchange a few words with Seeder but spend most of the meal silent while Chaff and Haymitch make jokes at one another. I can see how Chaff's gregarious personality is good for Haymitch, who tends more toward darkness and cynicism. I know that with Haymitch putting together our team of allies it's more than likely Chaff will be a part of it, so in my head I decide to forgive the kissing incident.
After lunch I do the edible insect station with Cecelia and Woof from Eight, and make hammocks with Cashmere and Gloss from One, and take sword training with Enobaria from Two. Finnick introduces me to his district partner, Mags, who I take an immediate liking to even though I can barely understand a word she says. She can make a fish hook out of just about anything, a skill I can't help but admire even if I know it won't do her much good in the arena. In a normal Hunger Games the ability to find your own food puts you ahead of a lot of the other tributes, as it did for Mags in her own Games many years ago. But in this Quarter Quell, with 24 experienced killers in the arena, I have a feeling that combat skills will be at a premium, not foraging.
Towards that end, when the day nears its close and I get tired of trying to make friends with people I'll have to kill later on, I go over to the archery range for some sanity. Everyone saw me in the Games last year, so there's no point trying to hide my skill now.
Unlike the mistake I made in my private session last year, I start slow and easy. I know these bows are built and strung differently than what I'm used to from my father's bows that I use at home. I also haven't been hunting at all since before the Victory Tour, so for the first time since I was a child I'm actually out of practice. And my body posture is different now that I'm five months pregnant. Still, after about a dozen practice shots my aim is as good as ever. I can't help but feel relieved; if my aim was wrecked I'd stand no chance at all of surviving these Games.
After that I let myself relax into the flow of shooting. It's wonderful, getting to try out all the different bows and arrows. But more than that, finally shooting again is like reclaiming a lost part of myself. Like there's been an empty place inside of me for the last six months that I'm slowly refilling with every bullseye.
After I make quick work of the standing targets, the trainer begins to launch these silly fake birds into the air for me to hit. At first it seems stupid, but it turns out to be kind of fun. It feels more like real hunting than any stationary target could. Since I'm hitting everything he throws up, he starts launching them two at a time. Then three. Then more. I'm able to forget the rest of the gym, and the victors I'm supposed to be allying with, and how completely in the dark I am about whatever Haymitch is truly planning, and just lose myself in the shooting.
After I take down five birds in one round, I notice that it's so quiet in the room that I can hear each one as it hits the floor. I turn and see that the other victors have stopped whatever they were doing to watch me. Their faces show a variety of reactions, from envy to hatred to admiration. I see Haymitch, flanked by Chaff and Finnick, bark out a laugh as he smacks each of his companions in the arm. "I told you how good she was!" he tells them. I've never taken Haymitch hunting with me, the only time he's seen me shoot was in last year's Games. But in the silence of the room, everyone hears his boast. I touch the bow to my forehead in a mock salute before replacing it on the stand and thanking the trainer.
Peeta isn't in the District Twelve suite when Haymitch and I return from training. Without speaking of it, we both retreat to our rooms to wait for dinner.
Peeta doesn't return until shortly before dinner. He seems excited. "I don't know what you did at training today, but at least half the mentors have asked me about getting you as an ally for their tributes. Even District Two wants you."
"I put on a bit of a shooting exhibition," I explain. Peeta raises his eyebrows. "But I don't want District Two. You know I'm allying with Haymitch and his friends."
"Yeah, but if I'm negotiating for an alliance I can get the other mentors to tell me about the strengths and weaknesses of their tributes," Peeta counters. Peeta's role as our mentor was originally just a way to keep him out of the arena, but now I have to consider that he may be better at this than any of the three of us have given him credit for. If my skill with a bow can get people to talk to Peeta, I know his skill with words can get them to reveal more to him than they mean to.
"So training went well?" Peeta asks me.
"Oh, it was great," I say dryly. "You would have loved it, Johanna Mason spent half the morning oiling up her breasts."
Peeta gives me a strange look. "You know, you seem to be paying an awful lot of attention to Johanna Mason's breasts lately."
"I'm not!" I protest. "She just keeps shoving them out there!"
"And you find that… distracting?" he asks, and he can't keep the grin off his face. "I don't need to be jealous, do I?"
Two can play this game. "Well," I huff, "they are quite impressive."
"You know," Peeta says lowly, pulling me towards him, his hands gripping my waist, "if you're that interested, I know a girl whose breasts are so nice she doesn't even have to oil them up."
I can't help but smile at his antics. "Oh no?"
"No, they're perfect just as they are." And he leans down to kiss me.
"Flavius once told me I should tattoo silver spiral patterns on my breasts," I say.
"That would be a crime," he whispers against my lips, and finally claims them with his own.
We never do make it to dinner that night.
…..
The next morning at breakfast, Effie is very put out with us for skipping dinner. Haymitch restricts himself to knowing smirks whenever he looks up from his food. I ignore them both. Given the choice of how to spend my evening, making love to my husband would win out over dinner with Effie and Haymitch even if I had forty thousand days guaranteed to me, instead of only four.
Effie does have one relevant piece of news to share. "The annual Victor's Ball has been moved up. It will be held tonight after your training."
I've never heard of this Victor's Ball before, but Peeta has been studying up on how to mentor. "It's a big sponsor event, where all of the victors in the Capitol can lobby for their tributes," he says. "But it's supposed to be held the night the Games begin, a few hours after the bloodbath when the field has narrowed."
"Well, this year many of the Victors will be unavailable at that time, so President Snow had the ball rescheduled," Effie explains. By "unavailable" she means "already dead and dying in the arena." Got to love that Capitol sensibility.
"So is this just for the mentors?" I ask. I'm honestly not sure which option I'd prefer. I don't want to attend yet another interminable presidential ball, but neither do I want to leave Peeta to face one alone.
"Oh no, this event will be attended by every Victor in the Capitol!" Effie seems very excited by this.
"That means you can't get out of it," Haymitch helpfully adds.
"Now, your prep teams will be waiting for you when you return from training this afternoon, so don't dawdle!" Effie says. I roll my eyes and return my attention to something much more interesting: my breakfast.
…..
Things feel different when I return for the second day of training. Between my shooting exhibition and the incident with Chaff, I seem to have earned some newfound respect from the other victors. I still get teased some, I'm still the youngest tribute in this year's Games, but I feel like I've been accepted into the club now. They know I'm not here by chance, that I'm just as deadly as they are. I'm not sure if I should be proud of that or not.
I continue spending time with as many tributes as possible as I move from station to station. Brutus and I discuss wrestling techniques as we trade off practicing different holds with the trainer there. The morphlings use the paints and dyes at the camouflage station to cover my face in colorful swirls. I even practice throwing knives with Johanna Mason, who mercifully remains clothed for the event. She spends most of the time complaining that they don't have an axe station for her to enjoy, though her knives are plenty accurate enough to make me nervous about eventually facing her in the arena.
After lunch, Finnick and I trade trident lessons for archery instruction. The look on his face when I ask him, "Explain to me how this isn't just a spear with more points on it?" makes me laugh out loud. We almost seem to be developing a weird sort of friendship, Finnick and I, except as he pointed out at the parade, we'll be trying to kill each other at the end of the week.
That knowledge overshadows all of my interactions throughout training. The more I come to know these people, the worse it is. Because on the whole, I don't hate them. Even the Careers seem all right when we're not discussing the Games. Some of them I like, like Seeder and Mags. A lot of them are so damaged that my natural instinct would be to protect them, like the morphlings from Six, or poor old Woof. Not to mention Haymitch, my friend and mentor, part of the little family I've assembled for myself in the Victor's Village. But all of them must die if I'm to save my child and go home with Peeta.
By the time I get back to the District 12 suite all I want to do is cuddle up with Peeta for a while, to let his warm embrace and his loving words soothe away this living nightmare the way they do all my other nightmares, but instead I'm met coming off the elevator by my prep team to get ready for this damned Victor's Ball. Luckily they just prepped me for the parade two days ago, so things go fairly quickly once I've showered. Cinna puts me in an elegant gown that comes in two layers: an inner layer of light baby blue that hangs down to my ankles, and an outer layer of dark midnight blue that covers my upper body but opens up under the bodice to drape around my stomach. With the contrasting colors Cinna has accomplished what the padding did in my previous outfits, focusing attention on my belly in a way that makes me look months further along in my pregnancy than I actually am. Peeta's colors match mine, with his light blue dress shirt and dark blue jacket and pants. I like how it accentuates the blue in his eyes.
Ordinarily banquets like this are held in the president's mansion; Peeta and I have already attended two of those. But we tributes can't be let out of our prison in the Training Center, so the party tonight is being held in one of the lower levels here. It doesn't surprise me that the Training Center has a ballroom; what would the Capitol even be if there was a building that couldn't host a giant party?
Somehow I can't shake the feeling that this whole thing is just an excuse for President Snow to exploit all of the Victors one more time before he kills twenty-three of us, though I'm not sure what he stands to gain from it. Maybe it's just to display his absolute power over all of us? I can make you dance like a puppet even when I've already scheduled your execution, and there's still nothing you can do but obey.
But ostensibly this is an event for us to lobby for sponsorship in the Games, and that's what Peeta and I spend our time doing. Before tonight I've let exactly three people feel my pregnant belly: Peeta, Prim, and my mother. But tonight I allow every Capitol cretin who shows interest to do so, no matter how it makes my skin crawl, and every time I do I thank Cinna again for putting me in a dress without extra padding. Even if only one of these people feels some connection to my baby and later decides to send me a flask of water or a box of matches when I need it, it will be worth it. Peeta manages to casually mention to just about everyone he talks to that there's never been a sponsor gift of prenatal vitamin supplements, and wouldn't that be a bit of history to make yourself a part of?
Unfortunately, Peeta and I don't get to spend nearly enough time together, as we're both trying to sweet-talk various potential sponsors. We reconnect every few dances, just enough to maintain our sanity among all these Capitol people, but otherwise we try to cultivate as many supporters as possible.
It's my first time seeing sponsorship in action, and I'm fascinated to see how the other, more experienced Victors handle it. They all seem to be playing into their public personas, as much as Peeta and I are by trading on the pregnancy. Chaff shares drinks and hearty laughs with a series of flamboyantly-dressed drinking partners. Haymitch also seems at first glance to be sharing drinks with various sponsors, but on closer examination I notice that not one drop of alcohol ever passes his lips. I'm so touched by this I almost start crying. Stupid hormones. I make sure to catch his eye and give him a nod of thanks. He nods back and toasts me with the bubbly red concoction he's not drinking from.
Every time I spy Finnick Odair he's whispering in the ear of a different Capitolite. On the other hand, Johanna Mason seems to be actively shunning sponsorship, snapping at anyone who dares approach her unless they're carrying a tray of food or drinks for her to pilfer from. Cashmere and Gloss seem to be double-teaming their potential sponsors, before they disappear through a side door with a short man who has gold tattoos on his face. I didn't even know we were allowed to leave this room before the end of the night, but the Peacekeepers pass them right through. And then they do the same fifteen minutes later for the woman from Five and a man whose jacket is covered in long green feathers. I'm not sure I want to know what kind of sponsorship deals are so sordid that they need to be hidden away in a back room, even compared to how disgusting this whole party already is.
At one point I'm dancing with another potential sponsor, a dark-haired man whose sleeveless red suit shows off the tattooed flames covering both of his arms. He's obviously a fan of the Girl on Fire, and just as obviously drunk. His dance steps are sloppy and uneven, and he would have fallen at least twice if I hadn't held him steady. But his words still have an elegant formality as he tells me about his favorite moments from last year's Games – apparently he dozed off on the couch while Peeta and I were freezing on top of the Cornucopia being tortured with Cato's cries of agony all night, and it was only the trumpets blaring to announce the rule change back to one winner that woke him in time to see our exciting finale. Luckily he's drunk enough that he can't tell how much I want to strangle him right now.
As the song is winding down, he says to me, "You're so lovely. I must say, your pregnancy has done nothing to detract from your beauty." Nothing seems any creepier than any other conversation with Capitol sponsors, until he adds, "It's truly a shame President Snow never made you available."
I know I should dread the answer, but I still ask. "Available?"
"On the victor's exchange!" he says with enthusiasm. "I would have paid a fortune for you!"
I ask myself exactly what victors who are "available" on this "exchange" would be expected to do for an amount of money that even an elite Capitolite would call a fortune, and I don't like any of the answers my mind supplies. "Yes, well, you know how it is," I say, hoping my voice comes out steadier than it sounds in my head.
Luckily the song ends before he realizes I've started shaking. He steps away from me and puts his finger to his lips. "Shhh. It's supposed to be a secret," he says with an exaggerated wink. The slight tilt of his head as he winks makes him stumble several steps to his left.
"Thank you for the dance," I get out quickly, and flee his presence while he's distracted by trying to regain his balance.
In an effort to avoid people for the moment, I find one of the food tables and start munching on little cubes of fruit while I contemplate what that man was hinting at. No matter how many times I rethink it I keep coming to the same conclusion. It's almost too terrible to comprehend, but too terrible to comprehend is usually the right answer when it comes to anything involving President Snow. These are the wealthiest people in Panem, the elite of the elite in a city that's already the elite of the elite. None of these people are paying a fortune to see the victors showcasing their signature weapons, or to watch them practice their talents. That creep with the flames on his arms made it pretty clear exactly what he was interested in.
I need to talk to someone about this, to gather more information and then figure out what to do about it, but I don't know who I can go to. Peeta is as clueless as I am, he would have told me already if he knew anything, and I don't want to panic him until I know more. Haymitch would just lie to me.
And then I know exactly who I need to talk to. Someone who has a different Capitol lover every night. Someone who just the other day tried to tell me he gets paid for the time he spends with them, only I wasn't paying attention.
I find him on a couch to one side of the dancefloor, luckily just disengaging from a conversation with a tall, pale woman whose hair is nearly the color of my dress. I step up to him as soon as she turns her back, before he can find a new target. "Finnick," I say, "join me for a dance?"
Finnick quirks an eyebrow at me. "I can't sponsor you, Katniss."
"Well, I'm not interested in anything as common as money," I reply.
I can see the flicker in his expression that tells me he understands what I'm saying. "In that case, by all means!" he says, standing and leading me out to the floor. The couples surrounding us are fairly spaced out, as most people are involved in more serious discussions off to a side. Between that and the music we can speak without being overheard as long as we're careful, I think.
"Are you enjoying this fine get-together?" Finnick asks me once we're dancing.
"It's been…" I pause, trying to come up with the right word. "…educational."
"Oh really?" Finnick says playfully.
"Finnick," I say, "can I ask you a personal question?"
"I find personal questions are the best kind," he murmurs.
I drop my voice as low as I can get away with. "People seem to be disappointed that I was never made… available to them."
I can tell Finnick's look of surprise is genuine. "Oh?"
I nod. "But they don't have that disappointment about you, do they?"
Finnick is quiet for a long moment. "No, they don't," he finally says, and I almost don't recognize his voice. Gone is the lilting, flirtatious playboy. For the first time since we met before the opening ceremonies, Finnick is all seriousness.
I take a deep breath to steel myself. "And that's… that's exactly what I think it is, right?"
Finnick gives me a look that says, "What are you, stupid? What the hell else would it be?" which is exactly what I already feared, but something in me needed the confirmation. I nod to acknowledge him and look away. "And that's what this party is actually for?" I ask. "Arranging… transactions, and not sponsorships?"
"You're implying those aren't the same thing," Finnick says. I look back at him in shock. He shrugs. "People who can afford one can afford the other. And sometimes people are very appreciative, after."
I've never mentored the Games, but I spent most of the last year thinking that I would be. I try to imagine caring about one of my tributes enough to do… that, and I just can't. But then again, these arrangements aren't exactly voluntary, are they? All the decisions are already made between Snow and whichever rich Capitolite is willing to pay; as usual none of the rest of us get a choice. And once Snow has spoken and your fate is already decided… well, why not take advantage of the situation? It's a thought process so frighteningly practical that I'm almost not disgusted with myself for following it.
Then a truly horrible thought occurs to me: In less than four days, I'll be the tribute, and Peeta will be the mentor. What would he be willing to do to help me in the arena? If I were injured and needed medicine? If I were dehydrated and risked losing the baby? Would he violate the fidelity of our marriage in order to save me? Either answer is too horrible to imagine. We made a commitment to each other, all those months ago and every day since. But we don't belong to each other. We don't even belong to ourselves. Ultimately all of us belong to Snow.
Finnick stays silent as my brain struggles to incorporate all this new information. Finally I ask him, "Any advice?" How can we protect ourselves from sharing your terrible fate? There's something cruel in the question, but I ask it anyway. And Finnick gives me an answer.
"Go find that husband of yours. Don't ever let them see you as anything but a couple," he says earnestly. "You got several big sponsor gifts very late in the Games last year. You don't think people were spending that kind of money just for bragging rights, do you? At least some of them were expecting to be at the front of the line after your victory."
I haven't had morning sickness in weeks, but I have to swallow hard to keep my dinner from reappearing. Everybody knows the price of sponsor gifts goes up as the Games go on. Peeta and I were sent broth and sleep syrup almost two weeks into the Games. And an entire feast of fine foods, complete with plates and silverware, arrived several days after that. The cost must have been enormous. And knowing now exactly what those people thought they could buy…
"The only thing protecting you from joining me is the fact that splitting you up would be such a public relations nightmare," Finnick continues. "As soon as Snow thinks he can get more for you than he loses from the public backlash, well…" He shrugs again, his implication clear.
That's what it comes down to, I guess. What Snow can get for us. He doesn't see us as people, only as things to be used for his own benefit. Commodities to be bought and sold. Pieces in his games.
I can't help the shiver that runs through me. "How do you bear it?" I ask.
Finnick lets out a dark laugh. "I don't, Katniss! I drag myself out of nightmares each morning and find there's no relief in waking." He takes a shuddering breath, and his voice is steadier when he speaks again. "It's just like the arena, you bear it because you have to. Better not to give into it. It takes ten times as long to put yourself back together as it does to fall apart." And I get the distinct impression he's speaking from experience there.
My thoughts turn to everything I've been through in the past year, all the times I could have fallen apart. All the times I did fall apart – the nightmares when they were at their worst, the lost day when I found out I was pregnant, my breakdown when I thought Prim was being sent into the Games. Even going all the way back to that horrible day in the rain when I was 11. All the times when I couldn't bear it any longer, Peeta was there to ease the burden until I could.
And now this new revelation. If Peeta and I weren't together for real then the Capitol would almost certainly force us together anyway, but now I imagine myself without Peeta at all. If I was just a normal Hunger Games victor. The Girl on Fire, all alone, available to whomever President Snow dictated. I think back to all those people chanting my name at last year's tribute parade. The endless stream of wealthy and connected Capitolites eager to shake my hand and take their picture with me at the Victory Banquet. Surely more than just Mr. Flame Arms from earlier must have been hoping I would become available to them.
Every time I think I finally appreciate how incredibly lucky I am to have Peeta in my life, it turns out I'm still vastly underestimating his importance to me.
I look back to Finnick. Does he have a Peeta? Does he have someone waiting for him at home, someone whose mere presence can heal his soul of the wounds inflicted by what happens here in the Capitol? Someone who he's trying to protect by acquiescing to Snow's demands? One look at his pained face tells me that yes, he does.
And now I know how he bears it.
I'm momentarily overwhelmed by how unfairly I've judged Finnick Odair before now. I'm hardly one to care about Capitol celebrities; even now that we live in the Victor's Village with reliable electricity, I almost never watch television outside of mandatory viewings. To the extent that I've been aware of Finnick in the past I've always regarded him with disdain. His flirtatious manner, his casual sexuality, his parade of lovers – it all led me to dismiss Finnick as someone unworthy of my attention or my respect. To now learn that it was all an act, even worse that it was an act he was forced to perform under threat from the president, leaves me shaken.
My mind is still reeling when the song ends. "Thank you Finnick," I stammer out, taking a step back. "For the dance," I add for anyone listening in.
"Anytime," he says, and he's back to what I now realize is Capitol Finnick. "Anything for the lovely Mrs. Mellark," he adds with a flourish before leaving. I understand his message.
I scan the room for Peeta and find him chatting amiably with a woman whose skin has been dyed pink. It's so close to a natural skin tone that it's somehow even more unsettling than all the blue and green and purple people surrounding us, but at the moment I don't even have it in me to scoff. I almost sprint over to get to Peeta before the next song begins, immediately taking his arm. "I'm sorry," I say to the pink woman, flashing what I hope is a smile, "but I need to borrow my husband for a bit."
"It was lovely talking with you," Peeta says as I drag him out to the dancefloor.
It's another few minutes before I've managed to calm my breathing. "Are you going to tell me what that was about?" he asks me quietly.
I pull his head down and speak so close to his ear that it looks like I'm kissing him. "I'll explain when we get back upstairs. Just don't let go of me for one second until then. Now laugh as if I just said something sexy." I pull away from him smiling. He chuckles lightly and drops a sweet kiss on my lips before standing straight once again and continuing our dance.
Peeta does as I ask, and for the rest of the night he keeps at least one arm wrapped around me. We never dance with anyone but each other, using the excuse of pregnancy concerns for Peeta to stick by me at all times. A few of the people whose dance requests we reject even swoon at Peeta's overprotectiveness and my clinginess.
Every time we have to talk to someone my skin crawls. How many of them are aware of this victor's exchange? How many of them are customers? How many of them would buy time with me or Peeta if given the chance? We still let potential sponsors feel the baby, but I can't always contain my shudder of revulsion when they do. Several of them are so clueless they mistake the feeling for the baby kicking. We let them think that.
Tonight's revelations put a disturbing new context to this ploy for me now. Is letting people feel my belly to entice them to sponsor me really fundamentally different from what Finnick was describing earlier? Or is it only a matter of degrees? I had this baby in part to protect my family; what else would I be willing to do? I know the answer, and I shudder again at the thought.
I can't help but study the other Victors in this new light. Which of them are looking for sponsors, and which of them are being sent out for more? Is there even a difference? Cashmere and Gloss are back amongst the crowd now. What were they busy doing earlier, in a private room away from this party? Were they doing it individually, or together? Johanna Mason's abrasive attitude towards everyone but the servers certainly makes more sense to me now.
It doesn't escape Haymitch's notice that Peeta and I have stopped circulating separately. He gives us a look now and then, but it's not one of his "you're doing something wrong" looks so I ignore it. Every once in a while I'll catch Finnick watching us and we'll exchange a small nod, but after another hour or so he disappears from the party. Finally Effie shows up to let us know it's time to leave, and Peeta and I escape back to our floor.
As soon as the elevator releases us I just want to curl up in bed and let Peeta shield me from the world, but he deserves an explanation first. "It's a lovely night," I say. "Want to go get some air?"
Peeta understands, and leads the way up onto the roof. We head straight for the wind-chime garden, and as soon as we're there I grab him in the tightest embrace I can manage. I just want to hold him close to me forever and never let the world touch him. Haltingly, I explain what I've learned tonight – my conversation with the flame-skinned man; with Finnick; everything I now know about the torture we somehow dodged without realizing it.
Finally I'm done, and we're both quiet for a while, just holding each other to ward off the rest of the world. Eventually Peeta pulls away enough to look me in the eyes. "We'll be fine. It's like Finnick said, we're the Capitol's favorite couple. And we're going to have a baby. No one will want to break up the Star Crossed Lovers and their baby."
"But what if I don't make it out of the Quell? Then you're a grieving widower with a mile-long waiting list of Capitol women wanting to make it all better," I say.
"Well then you're just going to have to win the Quell. There's no other option," he says.
I don't have anything to say to that. Because, really, what else is there to say?
…..
I have to admit I'm not entirely pleased with this departure from canon. Other changes I made in Snow's / the Capitol's behavior flowed more logically from the changed circumstances in this AU – The crackdown in District 12 didn't happen so soon because K&P were still actively cooperating with Snow, the reading of the Quarter Quell card was delayed so it would coincide with the baby special, etc. OTOH, I don't see any reason why this ball would happen here if it didn't happen in canon. But I needed Katniss to learn how other victors are used by Snow, and this was the best way to do it. Plus it helps build the Katniss-Finnick friendship, since he won't be able to save Peeta's life in the arena this time.
Next chapter: Day 3 of training. NGL, I'm vacillating back and forth between three different ideas of what Katniss will do in her private session, and I'm still not 100% sure which version of the next chapter will be the one I finally post. However that decision ends up, somewhere in the chapter someone will say this:
Preview quote from Chapter 23:
"Well, it wasn't exactly your shooting that got you that eleven last year, was it?"
