Blaine Abernathy: A Canary Caged
Disclaimer: I do not own The Hunger Games
Chapter 15: Play the Game
Blaine's POV
Do you ever feel like you are facing a challenge? A challenge that was so difficult to understand that you don't know what to do? The only thing you can do is observe? It was like staring at wet paint. Waiting for the wet decoration to dry and see if its liquid form is accurate to the permanent dry color. That was how I saw Cinna. A mysterious man who's been tainting my mind on countless questions?
After returning from the recording studio, I watched him like a hawk. My instinct tells me to watch him from the car down to the Training Center. And he watched me as well. We did not speak but gazed at one another. Who was he? He was so plain and simple that he is trimmed in gold to show his nationality to the Capitol. But his theology was different, his preference strange. When he came and introduced himself, Katniss told me he was sorry. Sorry? Since when do people say sorry in the Capitol along with a stylist who was supposed to congratulate the tribute, not show pity?
'Hope, it is the only thing stronger than fear. A little hope is effective; a lot of hope is dangerous. A spark is fine, as long as it's contained.' President Snow's words echo in my head.
Then another voice entered.
'Being perfect, that is how it is played. You can't show weakness, you can't show disloyalty, and you cannot show liberty. Take my advice, fold the cards, and let them win. You survive the game because you played it. Play this game and sacrifice your bidding when the chips are raised. Life is a gamble, and Snow holds a fifth ace.' I sighed in remembering a previous victor, Felix Gambit, one of the older victors in the twentieth Hunger Games from District 1.
Felix was a gambler and one of the oldest members of the Profit Circle. He knew how to play cards, so President Snow drafted him when starting the organization. Some would say Felix had it manageable compared to the rest of us. Until he passed away before his untimely death. Well, that was how the newspaper put it. But we, in the Profit Circle, knew the truth. Our poker friend was executed quietly. And his death was declared a stroke.
A stroke of poison.
Play the game, for that was life is . . . a game. A game of life and death. Out of the fifty victors that remain, we played the game. Some may not notice it, but the snake eyes never captivate you. Not even his trusted followers can let go. That was why the Profit Circle was used countless times, those of a complete threat and desirable.
Enobaria was a crowd pleaser for her signature of using her teeth in one battle to kill off the last tribute. Now she has sharp teeth of gold. Her commitment to President Snow was her own choice. She has clients of her own and gathers information…and assassination if necessary. Cashmere and Gloss, being siblings and coming from District 1 while winning after one another: shows connections of family relationship. Both do modeling and prostitution. Finnick, a handsome young man with trident and knotting, shows public interest. He manipulates the rope by influencing people with seduction that can get inside your head. Secrets were more valuable than money. And then there was me: Singer by day and Lady of the Night during twilight. Along with gathering intel and assassination.
Afterward, some victors before that show no potential in the marketing of this scandal. Not even with Annie, sweetness and innocents were on the menu. However, madness could lead to physical damage. I don't know what happened to her personally, but shock after witnessing decapitation wasn't the cause of the mental world.
Then, I was a victor's child. Daughter of a rebellious tribute in history: to humiliate the Capitol. To use their resources in a force field in order to survive. After my father's side of the family was massacred, Lucy was spared because of her illness. I was the final option to destroy Haymitch. But I proved them wrong after I was reaped. I was a Career. A trained girl who knew her fate and defied their rules by preparing for uncertainty. Playing the Hunger Games was a sign of execution towards punishment, and hope was only acceptable to the lone victor.
With my temper and slight emotional wreckage of my comrade's death. I became their pawn, and now I was Snow's canary. I sing for their entertainment, show up on their secrets, flirt for their pleasure, and watch as the government oversees the money. Play the wrong card, and somebody gets punished. Raise the bid, and you face a terrible warning. Win the game or challenge the lead player, and you'll face the joker.
Got to be perfect in order to survive
Restrain all personal self and become their puppet.
If you are lucky, you might get an excuse
But know a favor may be at hand.
What they see is what the authority wants you to see. A person who redeemed their district from their sins of war! As the documentary said from the honorable President Snow. 'And so it was decreed, that each year, the various districts of Panem would offer up in tribute, one young man and woman, to fight to the death in a pageant of honor, courage and sacrifice. The lone victor bathed in riches, would serve as a reminder of our generosity and our forgiveness. This is how we remember our past. This is how we safeguard our future.'
How can people redeem themselves while drowning in blood money? For the past seventy-three years, to earn forgiveness when over 1703 children are dead. For the lone tribute that rises as victors are damned in purgatory.
A spark is fine, as long as it's contained.
Could it be possible that President Snow thinks that there might be another rebellion? Probably, not after what a performance the star-crossed lovers showed in the pre-games. Although, the Girl on Fire could never be born without a spark!
I look at Cinna wary. He created the spark, and how he portrays himself worries me for some reason. I hardly know this man, and yet he was a blank page, no analysis of his character than simple. A calm and normal demeanor masks a complete madman. Fire, holding hands, sympathy, and lack of selfishness. If I didn't know any better, the man who ignited the spark was a rebel. But I should wait before making such an accusation. I shall keep a keen eye on him.
"A penny for a thought?" Cinna asked.
"I'm trying to figure out where we met," I lied. "You say it was not a fashion show."
Cinna smiled, "It wasn't a fashion show."
"A photoshoot?" I guessed. "Was it a photoshoot?"
He shook his head, "No, it was not a photoshoot."
"And you say it wasn't a concert we met in person, not a performance."
"That would be cheating."
I sighed, trying to remember where?
"Must have been at a party or formal event."
"It wasn't."
I groaned, "You seriously not going to tell me?"
He grinned.
"Give a lady a hint."
Cinna paused, contemplating that, then sighed, "We share a mutual friend."
"A mutual friend?"
Cinna nodded.
I don't have true friends in the Capitol.
"Is this friend a victor?"
Cinna shook his head.
I sighed, getting frustrated, and decided to change the topic. "So, what made you decide on District 12?"
"I asked for District 12," Cinna replied.
"But why?"
He doesn't respond. I sighed and gazed out the window to watch colorful, flamboyant people live in a fantasy. A hand grazed my neck. I paused, fighting the urge to grab it. But it moves to the side of my face, tucking a loose strand of hair behind my ear. Cinna then pulled the clip out of my hair and let it fall. How can my control be sustained to let go of somebody I don't know? I built the walls when I was ten. Ever since I knew the truth in this world called Panem.
Faking everything that was about me for the men of the Capitol. But now my chains are longer, and the cage door is open. However, I remain in the cage, in question, caution in what lies in the world. Where there was a cat waiting. For the cat was not what I feared. No, it was the snake.
"You should keep your hair down," Cinna stated.
I didn't say anything, or couldn't? I don't know, except I stared out the window, pretending to be in a daze. But I was actually staring at Cinna's reflection in the glass. Something about him fascinated me, intrigued me with a certainty of opportunity. What goes on in his head while his face remains calm? Who is he that caught my attention more than an absent-minded acquaintance?
A spark, that's what he was. A spark that might change my life! Do I take it? Should I take the chance on the next step and take the owner of my life's advice? Or do I stay in my cage?
I don't know, but Cinna would be an important figure in my life than anyone.
Someone that I know but do not remember.
"Are you busy tomorrow?" I asked, facing him.
"No, I'm always free," he replied.
"Would you like to accompany me to the Bettings tomorrow?" I asked, biting my lower lip.
Why all of a sudden do I have this fear of rejection? I thought.
"As you wish," he said.
I smiled for no apparent reason and stared at him. To gaze at those green eyes that infiltrated my soul and read me like a book while being discreet simultaneously. Green, Mags told me colors had a meaning. Before losing her voice, she stated green represents learning, growth, and harmony, if not balance and change. While those green eyes contain gold for success, wealth, and courage. How can they pierce through my debatable eyes of blue or gray?
If blue, it encourages communication and peace to counteract chaos while being perspective. But knowing Haymitch and his genetic trait, my eyes were gray like all citizens of the Seams. Symbolizing security, maturity, and dependability while connoting responsibility and conservative practicality.
We were practically opposites, a crafty man socializing with a lone wolf.
Cinna seemed to read my debate as he leaned closer than needed to be and devoured my personal space. His skilled hand cautiously grazed my arm. His eyes locked on mine as he leaned down. I closed my eyes to expect the next move until an erratic beeping ruined the moment. He pulled back and looked around for the cause of that noise.
It was the tablet!
I immediately grabbed it. Unlocking the touchable screen to see what the hell is going on.
"Shit," I cursed, fingers scurrying on the screen and skimming through the tracker's detail.
This was bad, very bad, for the tracker wasn't just a location device but a medical detector. This was how the Gamemakers knew if a tribute was dead, for there were post-mortems, bleed-off, and delayed kills that the tributes experienced. Tracking any cause of physical danger maybe.
Peeta's Health detector activated to show that his immune system was starting to shut down, detecting blood poisoning in the bloodstream. The estimation for survival was ten days if not checked and thirteen days if not cured. Checking over the cost of any medicine that could be used to postpone this illness turned out to be a complete failure. The needed medicine cost over a hundred thousand dollars to sustain the ailment, but to cure it was a million. I didn't have the money to get him that!
Slide the app around, touch the screen, and then press the Hunger Games section down to Peeta. It was close to a late hour as the sun began to set at the arena. I zoomed in on Peeta's location to see a bolder moss cover. You have to be actually looking to see through the Camouflage that Peeta was in. To see a face within the corner of the rock as the expression showed a hint of pain. Growling at the situation, there was nothing I could do. And even if there is one, Peeta would sacrifice himself for Katniss.
.o0o.
The next day Katniss woke up from her slumber from the venom. She seemed disoriented but functional to cooperate with her system to move to a different location. Haymitch, Cinna, and I watch this at the Bettings to see the Girl on Fire awake. She grimaces at something, probably a bad morning taste, as we watch her pick a flower and drink the contents inside.
"Very resourceful," a sponsor said across from us.
The prices are already increasing as the gambling station picked out the top three most likely picked tributes that will be killed today. They consisted of District 3 boy Tron, District 10 boy Wayne, and Rue. Typical that they put the youngest tribute in the death pool so quickly, like she was nothing. I rolled my eyes. Play the game and get them their money.
It didn't help that I received a message from Seneca to keep Katniss alive! The top five tributes most likely to succeed are Katniss, Clove, Cato, Marvel, and Thresh. It's disgusting how they could settle the score on who would be victor and who was dead. All this numerology and calculations on estimation procedures in predicting the top attributes are annoying.
So all day, we watched Katniss doing whatever she would do today. From tending her burn down to polishing her arrows, the scene changed to the Careers, who were now waking up from the venom. Cato appeared, rubbing his head as he went into a tantrum on Tara hitting him in the head. Tron paled to discover how Tara died while Marvel made fun of the big brute for being hit by a girl.
"Idiots," I muttered.
"Hey, we're not all bad!" Haymitch protested sarcastically.
"Really?" I challenged to which my father shrugged, taking a sip of his drink.
An Avox walked around with a tray, and I grabbed the beverage. Taking a sip of champagne that was weak. Sighing, I handed the drink to Haymitch, who gladly accepted and headed to the bar. I ordered a Cosmo, and the bartender gave me a luscious eye. I raised a card that was given to Victors, and he nodded.
Cinna took a seat next to me, asking for an Old Fashion.
"Aren't you young for drinking?" he asked.
"Please, I've been drinking since I was sixteen. Besides, I'm twenty-one." I said. "I know how to hold my own liquor compared to some."
Cinna scoffed and watched the bartender do his magic. In less than five minutes, we had our beverages. We drank prosperously, not overdoing ourselves, while just chatting about random things. It felt good to talk with Cinna, not discussing anything related to the Hunger Games, our jobs, or our past. Just the weather, and whatever comes to mind. He even told me a few jokes that made me laugh as I told him hilarious stories growing up. I was stuck in a tree trying to save a hideous cat named Buttercup. That the peacekeepers had to help me down when I was thirteen.
"Guess that means you're not so perfect," Cinna said.
I stiffen at the word, perfect. I loathed that singular word when people called me that. I wasn't always perfect. I was once a kid with silly dreams who liked to play pranks and fool around. Being a klutz who scrapes her knee. But seeing the Hunger Games, I had to grow up, including my mother's death. The appearance I lived in wasn't me. The Capitol changed me to their perfection on my body. Alternating it so they can make the crowd awe in beauty. The only thing that was mine was my voice and eyes; everything was mauled up to some goddess. It was the Capitol, and they owned me like the next victor. Just play the game, and you shall live to the next round.
"Guess you're right," I sighed.
Cinna paused when he heard this. He was about to say something when Seneca appeared.
"Blaine, what a pleasant surprise?" Seneca greeted me as he placed a hand on my shoulder.
"It sure is," I replied, giving a smile.
"Who's your friend?" Seneca asked kindly, but you could easily hear a faint sign of jealousy.
The relationship with Seneca is strange. For there were feelings between one another. Yet, due to my situation, I never cross them further. However, President Snow encourages me to try and seek men from the Capitol. Seneca is one of his preferred choices. Then again, Seneca has donated a lot of money to spend time with me casually and intimately. He treats me well. And I like him.
"Seneca, this is Cinna, the stylist," I introduced him to Cinna. "Cinna, this is Seneca Crane. He's the Head Gamemaker."
"Nice to meet you," Cinna replied, offering a hand to Seneca.
"Likewise," Seneca said, shaking Cinna's hand firmly before looking at me. "So, Blaine, how do you like the game so far?"
I raised a brow, "Do I need to answer that?"
Seneca chuckled, "Right, not much of a sportsman."
"You know me better than that," I counter playfully. "I get bored easily. I feel sorry for the Careers that are stone as hell."
Seneca laughed, patting my back. "I believe so," suddenly, his headpiece beeped, signaling him that he was needed in the control room. He taps it, listening to the conversation with one of the Gamemakers. He then sighed disappointedly. "Well, I have to go." As he kissed me on the cheek. "We should have dinner together soon."
"Yes, that would be nice," I murmured.
Seneca grinned, then glanced at Cinna before leaving.
I shook my head, taking a sip of my Cosmo.
"That wasn't you," Cinna noted.
"What?" I asked, a bit appalled.
"Right there, that wasn't you," Cinna stated.
"Oh, what's really me?" I growled.
"Why don't you tell me?" Cinna murmured.
I was going to say something about who I really am, then shut my mouth. I have nothing, and even if I did, I wasn't going to cause a scene over a stupid mediocre challenge. Thus, taking a gulp of my drink, I stormed off to get sponsors for whomever in District 12 tributes.
Men!
.o0o.
"You know, they're not the only ones who can form alliances," Katniss said while cooking some bird that Chaff calls groosling.
Rue came out of the tree, peeking her head out. "You want me for an ally?"
"Why not? You saved me with that tracker jacker. You're smart enough to still be alive. And I can't seem to shake you anyway," Katniss said, had the young girl debated on this.
Can she trust Katniss or not?
"You hungry?" Katniss asked to which Rue swallowed hard, eyeing the cooked bird on the fire. "Come on then, I have two kills today."
Haymitch, Chaff, Seeder, Cinna, and I watched this as the girls ate their meals as we victors did back at the Training Center. Though we were eating chicken instead of groosling. Haymitch was having a field day on Katniss allying with the enemy and not with Peeta to make the star-crossed lovers to work. Since Peeta was murmuring Katniss's name in his sleep time-to-time.
Chaff barked out a laugh, smacking Haymitch in the back with his good hand. While I discuss with Seeder the possibilities these two girls may have. Seeder agreed. It was hard for her to get any sponsors, for Rue was so young, and the Career victors were everywhere. It was true, but Seeder wasn't one for a business like most of us. For she went into family life after the games. Already having grandchildren who are healthy at the moment. And so far none of her children or grandchildren have been reaped.
The two girls chatted after Rue helped clean Katniss's wounds on the bumps from the tracker jacker. It was funny how Katniss reacted to the chewed-up paste applied like she was in heaven. Soon they started talking about home, and I frowned, as did the mentors of District 11 when hearing about a young boy named Martin being executed on the spot for taking night vision glasses to play with. Unlike District 12, which suffers from starvation, District 11 has overpopulation and is very strict.
"Are your districts that corrupted?" Cinna asked.
No one answers, not even me. I never experienced poverty or lived a working life from Haymitch. Although growing up, I walked through the Seams and saw the Cold Miners at work. Chaff and Seeder work growing up. District 12 peacekeepers were obviously different from District 11, who were strict.
"Rue, I only woke up today. How many nights did I miss?" Katniss asked, as the anthem started to play.
The Panem Anthem blared their voices, so it was impossible to hear what they were saying. Haymitch growled, thinking Katniss was telling off the secrets by the expression Rue had. I honestly didn't care, for I don't like lying to the audience about the game. Once the Anthem was done, Katniss wanted to try on the glasses.
"I wonder who else got a pair of these," Katniss asked.
"The Careers have two pairs. But they've got everything down by the lake," Rue answered. "And they're so strong."
"We're strong, too," Katniss assured her ally. "Just in a different way."
"You are. You can shoot," Rue protested. "What can I do?"
"You can feed yourself. Can they?" Katniss asked.
"They don't need to. They have all those supplies," Rue answered.
I had a sick twisted feeling in my stomach. This was the exact conversation; Mike and I had during the sixty-ninth Hunger Games. We discussed getting supplies without being noticed while setting traps on the Careers. The boy was a prankster, and the traps on using wires to trip them were hilarious, along with some good supplies . . . however, Mike tripped and accidentally dropped the supplies. I bet the Capitol enjoyed the karma on that day.
"Say they didn't. Say the supplies were gone. How long would they last?" Katniss asked. "I mean, it's the Hunger Games, right?"
I believe that was the worst joke I have ever heard. Haymitch and Chaff hollered at this while Seeder shook her head along with Cinna. Well, two out of four agree with me.
"But, Katniss, they're not hungry," Rue said.
"No, they're not. That's the problem," Katniss agreed. She looks like she has a plan. It better be a good plan. Because of one false move and it's suicidal not just for her but also Rue. "I think we're going to have to fix that, Rue."
The tablet ding profusely.
Already, the sponsor piled up on this master plan for the Hunger Games.
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