2.2 : Ashley

Blight notices it first.

He doesn't have much to worry about. Twine and Caraway are safe - tucked up a little tree halfway across the forest from Johanna. They didn't manage to grab anything from the Cornucopia, but Caraway has given Twine his coat to warm up with while he takes the first watch. I don't know how he doesn't feel the cold. Based on the temperature readings, he should be shivering. Maybe leftover adrenaline is keeping his blood pumping. Anyways, she's out cold half an hour before they even show the faces in the sky. Cecelia says this isn't much of a surprise. Apparently, Twine hasn't slept at all in about two days.

Either way, I'm busy looking at the supply list when it happens. There's a lot of random, abstract items on the catalogue this year. Most likely, they're there to throw us out for a loop. Last year, the mentors were able to work out that there was some sort of flood on the way based on the items that ended up on the list. It didn't do much for the tributes in the long run - what's a plastic cover going to do for a drowning tribute? - but I imagine the Gamemakers are trying to pull the wool over our eyes this time. Seneca Crane certainly seems like the type.

Despite it, I've found something that might help. It's a sort of spile. It probably has some use as an actual spile in the arena, though I doubt Johanna will be prioritising finding tree sap unless she's dying of thirst. But it's not too expensive to order, and if she affixes it to the end of her makeshift spear, the pointed side might make for a better end than the one she's whittled for herself. She'll need to find some rope, but if she's smart -

"Ashley," I feel a hand on my shoulder. "Look."

I whirl around to switch screens, but Blight's already pointing at the main broadcast. I recognise Johanna's figure almost immediately. She's started to climb down the tree she scaled earlier in the evening. At first I don't notice anything wrong with the shot, because it's so dark, and I'm about to berate Blight for scaring me over nothing. But then the screen shifts to another camera angle just a little bit away, over a small thicket, and I get the horrible sense that something bad is about to happen.

My first instinct is that it's the career pack. But no, the screen showed them earlier all the way on the other side of the arena, starting their hunt in the lower, flatter, and more navigable rock-lands. Normally, there'd be far fewer tributes around that side of the arena - tributes tend to flee for the woods, where there's somewhere to hide, at least - but this year, because of the cornucopia layout, the arena's split pretty much fifty-fifty between where the remaining cohort have ended up.

It's not another tribute in the bushes either, because if it were, the broadcast would have shown them hiding in wait. We don't get to see what's stalking Johanna, because the Gamemakers want to keep us guessing. The realisation occurs to me in a slow, sinking, sticky feeling.

"Mutt," I breathe, just as the cameras pan to show two blinking yellow eyes in the trees.

"Shit." Blight removes his glasses to get a better look at the big screen. "What do you think it could be?"

My first thought goes to a bear, but bears don't have eyes like that, even Gamemaker bears. So - what? It could be anything. The room feels as though it's swimming. "I don't know." I stand. "Get back up that tree!" I know she can't hear me.

Some of the other mentors are looking at me. The room has considerably thinned out since this morning, but most districts have at least one tribute remaining, and a handful of victors have stayed around to help their partners. A lot of them are looking at me with pity. The first mutt attack is never good. The Gamemakers always like to use it as an excuse to show off. I feel sick.

Johanna doesn't notice it. She reaches the ground and peers into the gloom. I think she's trying to get her bearings north. She tightens her backpack, and turns away from whatever's stalking her.

It pounces.

The moment it does, Claudius Templesmith's voice blasts through the Click. What we see on the big screen is exactly what the rest of Panem sees, including all the extra commentary and information that they don't get in the arena. I can turn to my private screen if I want to see this uninterrupted, but right now, I can't seem to get my feet to move.

"The mountain lion, or puma concolor , " Claudius says. "Is a nocturnal predator belonging to the felidae family, found in habitats with dense brush and rocky formations. As an ambush predator, it stalks its prey - as we can see here, with Johanna Mason, from District Seven.

"In the wild, mountain lions have been known to kill grizzly bears, and even wolf packs, on occasion. They've often been called the apex predator of their environment. Let's see if Johanna Mason can take on such a formidable opponent."

Johanna is quick, and dives to the left when she hears the nose from the underbrush. We can see the creature properly now that it's left the shadows. It's huge. It's about as tall as Johanna's mid-waist, with short, reddish fur and a heavily muscled frame. It whirls around at her and snarls, baring razor-sharp front teeth. Johanna grabs her handmade spear in front of her with two hands, and starts to yell.

She would attract other tributes to her direction, but there's nobody nearby apart from the girl from Three, who is huddled in a cave and very obviously terrified. Johanna pushes forwards, looking the mutt straight in the eyes and yelling all sorts of obscenities in a very loud voice. I can tell what she's doing - she's trying to scare it off. This usually works in Seven, where the animals are more likely to flee and find easier prey. But this is a Gamemaker creation. It's not going to stop until they call it away.

I think Johanna realises this, because she stops all at once and takes a step back, trying to find surer footing. The mutt pounces at her again. It must weigh a ton, and it flings her back into the brush. I avert my eyes, feeling bile rise up in my throat. I don't want to see Johanna's neck ripped out. But then I notice that she's got it pinned back with her spear at half-arms length. The mutt is partially on top of her, its hind claws digging into her leg. She's losing strength, and the spear is starting to slip.

I feel Cecelia's hand on my shoulder.

What happens next is very quick.

Even with the night vision cameras, it's hard to see what's going on properly, and I've completely tuned out Claudius' voice giving the audience a play-by-play. Johanna rolls away to the left, quickly, using the last bit of her strength to kick the creature off of her. While it's momentarily disoriented, she leaps onto its back, pinning it down, and dives her spear into the back of its neck. The mutt lets out a gurgling snarl, trying to paw her off it, and then, after a moment, it goes limp.

There's a brief silence. Johanna looks up at the sky, as if expecting a canon, but, of course, the arena is silent. She stumbles back away from it, limping slightly - (she must have rolled her ankle in the fall) - and waits for a moment to see if it gets back up. When it doesn't, she moves forwards, pulls the blood-coated spear out of its neck, retrieves her backpack, and runs away into the brush.

The camera cuts to the career pack, who are tracking the boy from Eleven.

I breathe.

"Where did that come from?" Blight says. He's still standing next to me, looking at the screen, slightly slack-mouthed.

"Fight or flight," Cecelia says. "You see it every year."

"No. No, not that. I'm talking about those curse words. Who taught her those? Ashley?"

"What?" I turn. "Sorry, what?"

"Did you teach her those?"

I look up from my screen. Johanna's making her way north, slowly and carefully, but steadily. Her breathing is haggard, and she's whipping her head back and forwards, expecting pursuers, but she's almost entirely alone. "What?"

"The swear words. Are you okay?"

"Fine. Um. No."

"You're not fine, or you didn't teach her the swear words?"

"Blight," Cecelia says, gently. "His tribute nearly died. Give him a second."

I shake my head. "No, it's fine. I didn't teach her that."

"Well, it feels a bit out-of-character. She could barely looking at me in the eye, and now she's on screen saying words that my own mother would have a heart attack over," Blight says, and then looks at me pointedly. "You didn't know she was like that?"

"What?"

"You didn't know that she was capable of that?"

I pause. I suppose there's no harm letting him know now. "I guessed."

"You guessed?"

"We worked out a sort of -" I pause, unsure how to word this. " - she came in, wanting to look weaker than she was. I helped her out."

"So what, it was a strategy?" Blight's looking at me quite firmly. He has the right to be upset that I didn't tell him, I suppose, though it doesn't seem quite fair.

"Yes," I say.

"Smart," Cecelia says, from the other side of the table, where she's sat down again. She's got her glasses on, and seems to be scanning the sponsor list. Blight frowns at her. "Well, it was. I certainly believed it."

"He could have told me about it."

"I could have," I say. "I didn't."

Blight sighs and runs his hands through his hair. "Alright. Glad she ended up with you and not me, then. I'm not tricky like you two."

Tricky? I frown. I've heard the word used about me before, but never from another victor. Certainly never from Blight. I don't think I would have ever described Johanna as 'tricky'. To me, she's as clear as air. Though, I suppose, in a sense, he's right. She did trick him.

I try not to feel too bad about it.

I sink back into my seat. Johanna's just found a tree that's sturdy enough to sleep in. She climbs it effortlessly, but I can see by the way that her eyes are darting around that she's spooked. She's remarkably unbloodied, though there's a smattering of it on the sleeve of her jacket that she furiously tries to scrub away with her hand. I bite my lip. When you kill something for the first time, it's hard. Even if it's not a person. When I killed the snake, back in my arena, I kept thinking about it. I had to keep telling myself it was a mutt, over and over again. It's not real, it's not real, it's not real.

Johanna looks a bit sick.

"Ashley," Cecelia says. "You might want to check that out."

I turn. There's a blinking red light flashing by my monitor. For the first time this year, my sponsor phone is ringing.

I pick up.

Within the next two hours, I'm in the lobby of a foreign apartment halfway across the Capitol. The collar of my shirt is digging uncomfortably into my neck, and I'm feeling hot and shivery all at the same time. The outfit, specially sent over by my mysterious benefactor, is a tight-fitting black ensemble. I wiggle a bit, trying to give myself a bit more room - uh - down there. It's mortifying. I had practically run from the Training Centre to get to the car that had been called for me before I was spotted. The other victors would have understood, I'm sure, but I don't think I could ever live down the sight.

By any measure, based on the outfit, I know very well what I'm getting into.

I could have turned it down. The request on the phone was worded very much like a business deal, quid-pro-quo. It wasn't an official demand, though it very well might have become one, if I had declined. In a normal year, I might have risked my chances. But the sum is too high, and I'm determined to keep Johanna alive, no matter the cost. The longer the Games go on for, the more expensive things become, and I'm looking to get her to the end with as little problems as I can manage.

The apartment I've been carted to is in the more upscale part of the Capitol. I'm waiting in a foyer done up with entirely gold decor, black marble floors and ceiling, and golden leather loveseats. On the wall facing me is a long mirror, where I can see my reflection under the dim, slightly gaudy, lighting. I think I look embarrassing. Even ignoring the trousers - I'm going to have no blood circulation there ever again, christ - everything else looks stupid. With how tight the outfit is, you can absolutely tell that I haven't kept up with working in the woods anymore, and though I'm still on the thinner side, I can see that my stomach has gained some unfortunate definition since I've won my Games. I was requested to come with my hair down, and while that usually looks fine, the length of it with this outfit makes me look like I'm trying really hard to attain this strange, feminine, svelte look that absolutely doesn't work for me.

I shake my head and check my official Games watch, which projects the time - ten in the evening - and a small image of Johanna in the arena, now asleep in a tree. I think she'd probably laugh if she saw me like this. That makes me feel better about it, at least.

"Checking on your tribute? I never imagined you'd have made a particularly attentive mentor."

I look up to see a man standing at the end of the foyer. He looks to be in his late thirties, and seems fairly ordinary-looking, if a bit ostentatious. Tall, with slicked-back dark hair and skin so pale, it looks as if he's glowing in the dim light of the hallway. He's dressed in nothing but an ornate gold-and-black robe and loose, velvet shorts. I frown.

"Atticus Nero," he says. "We spoke on the phone."

"You didn't give me your name," I say.

"Well, I like to keep up some air of mystery. Funner, that way. Would you like to follow me?"

I pause, and then stand, making a point to avoid my reflection in the mirror. Up close, Atticus Nero is very tall. I actually have to crane my head up to look at him properly. He's got a fairly youthful face, with wide green eyes that I'm not sure are his natural colour.

"You don't need to worry," he says, sweeping forwards and opening a door down the corridor. "I have it on good authority that your girl won't face any more trouble tonight."

The room he leads me into seems to be a living room. It's massive. Nearly double the size of our own back at the Training Centre. There's a huge glass wall that overlooks a view of downtown, where parties are raging on. Children are running around in the streets, chasing each other with coloured sticks and riding in toy cars. In Seven, right now, everyone is probably asleep. Atticus sits down on a sofa overlooking the sights, and pats the seat down next to him.

"Authority?" I ask.

"I have Gamemaker friends," he shrugs. He gestures again, and I come sit. He observes me for a moment. "You are very good looking. The cameras don't do it justice. Such dark eyes. I could lose myself in them."

It's not something I haven't heard before, but the way he says it feels curiously intense. I tilt my head and try for a smile. "You're a fan?"

"Of sorts," he leans back. "Oh, I loved your games. You caught me by such surprise. I was sitting right here, when you did that thing with the parachutes. How smart."

Games talk. I knew it was coming. I force a wider smile. "Well, thank you."

"Oh, no, no, don't do that," Atticus waves his hand. "If I wanted you to come play house with me, I would have asked Snow for you years ago."

My smile drops. "Snow?"

"Yes," he casually scoots closer. "But I don't like that sort of thing. I much prefer it when my interactions with victors are honest. I know you probably don't want to be here - which is why I want to pay you properly for it. What's the fun in forcing you against your will? So you can be honest with me too."

It's not usual, by any rate, but some of my pretence drops. Still, there's something I don't like about Atticus. Even aside from the obvious. He's looking at me too closely. "Honest? I thought the Capitol didn't like honesty."

"Oh no, we hate it. But you're not Capitol. You're District. And I'm doing this to get closer to you," he leans in. "So, tell me. How much of what we see on television is an act, and how much of it is real?"

I blink. It's not a surprise that he's aware that I've put on a persona. A lot of people are. But that's what most of them pay for. A character. They want to see what they get on the television. This isn't usual - in fact, it's very unusual. He shouldn't be asking. I shouldn't let him know. Not just for myself, but also because I've been told to. Snow benefits from keeping the victors in their own little personality boxes. It's not a threat if we're not seen as people.

Atticus asking this, is, by nature, seditionist. He probably knows it, if he knows Snow. He probably knows I'm thinking this too. His lips curl up into a smile.

He's paying me a lot of money.

"My mentor and I thought up most of the pre-Games angle on the train," I say.

"So, most of it, then?" He asks.

It's a lie. The truth is that, at least before the Games, it was none of it. Sylvia just told me to be myself - a more exaggerated, entertaining version of myself, but myself nonetheless. And the Games were entirely me. It was only after they were over that I really had to put on a mask. Casual, dry, calculating. I couldn't rationally be seen as anything else. Not when my win banked on the idea that I was some sort of uncaring mastermind. It's a market. It sells. It's alluring. It's almost certainly not me, which makes it so easy to adopt.

But I need to tell him something, and I can't bear for it to be the truth, so instead I decide for a half-truth.

"I guess," I say.

"I figured as much," he says. "I mean, the Ashley Firth they show on television certainly wouldn't care about his tribute enough to come visit me to help her."

"Probably not, no," I say. It occurs to me that the rest of the Capitol probably thinks the same thing. What will I have to spin, once I'm on television? I think about Blight. Tricky. Trick them again. I think about Snow. No more tricky business, Firth.

Tricky. I don't even think I am.

"So, tell me, was all her pre-Games shtick an act too?"

My heart drops.

If someone like this is interested in Johanna, there will certainly be others. And while Atticus hasn't forced me to come here, it isn't like he's not holding something over my head. I don't want her to fall into a trap like this. I know it's inevitable if she wins - she knows it's inevitable, but there's something about choosing to do this that feels worse, that makes me feel a bit sick, that -

Atticus notices my expression and laughs. "Oh, no, I'm not interested in her, don't worry. Not really my type. I was just curious."

I try to read him. I can't. "Yes. Johanna's was an act."

"And the other tributes don't even know. How smart! I suppose I should have expected that, with you behind her," he says. "You know, I've always hoped you'd end up with a tribute I'd wanted to sponsor. I've been wanting your company for quite a while."

"Have you?" I say.

Atticus smiles and leans up so close he's nearly in my lap. I can smell his cologne now. Sharp and musty, with some sort of undertone. He notices my expression. "It's pine. I wore it especially for you."

"Oh," I say.

He wraps his arms around me, and puts his lips to my ear. "How about a drink?"

I don't want to drink, but I nod.

At the very least, it doesn't take too long to get in his bed.

As I stare at the ceiling, I find that it looks a bit like the ceiling from the gymnasium back in Seven. When I was a child, sometimes Ollie and I would have to wait for hours after school before our mother would pick us up. We lived around the south side of the district proper, near all the hotspots for gang activity, and it was never safe for us to walk home without her, and so we were allowed to stay behind as long as it took for all the staff to pack up. Sometimes we'd go into the gymnasium and lie down, looking at the ceiling, and tell each other about our days.

"You think too much for your own good, Ash," Ollie would always say, whenever I'd tell her about any particular encounter. "I don't think it's as deep as you're making it out to be."

"But I'm not even trying to think," I'd complain. "That's just the way I am."

She'd laugh. "That's your problem, then. Be someone else."

It was the most time we ever spent together.

I miss it. By the time she turned eighteen, they'd cracked down on the gangs, and we didn't have to wait for our mother anymore. That summer, I was reaped.

Ollie stuck around, afterwards. Of course she did. But I can't pretend things haven't changed with her. She's never said. But I can tell. She's one of the few people who knows the truth, after all. What happened in the Games, whoever did those things in the arena, it wasn't someone else.

It was me.

I just try to think of the gymnasium and imagine she's telling me about her day.

I return to the Tribute Centre. I feel dirty. I go straight up to the seventh floor to get changed and run myself a shower that's so hot that my skin goes red and I lose all feeling in my hands and toes. Based on the livestream, Johanna is still asleep in her tree, and I know I could probably go to bed if I need to, but I can't be in this apartment anymore. I need to do something.

I tie my hair up, put on the loosest outfit I can find, and take the elevator down.

Finnick Odair is standing in the lobby when I get out. He's in the same outfit I saw him in this morning, and he looks frankly exhausted. I don't blame him. Tuning in and out of the livestream, I've been able to piece together that his tribute hasn't had an easy go of it with the rest of the career pack. He's butted heads with the girl from One frequently already, and I wouldn't be surprised if they turned on him early. I doubt Finnick will be getting much sleep in the next few days.

"Hey," he says. "I noticed you left. Catching some z's?"

"Something like that," I say, and breeze past him.

He calls out. "Your girl's still asleep. You don't need to go back down."

"I know," I say. My skin feels as though it's on fire. "I'm just - I'll go check on Blight."

"Blight's asleep. Cecelia's watching them. Ashley, are you okay?"

I turn. "Fine."

"You sure?"

I look at him. I don't know if I really want to talk about this. But this is Finnick, in any case. He's the one who warned me about -

"Have you ever met an Atticus Nero?"

His face goes pale. "Unfortunately."

"Yeah," I say. "Well. I hadn't, until today."

"Right."

"So, I'm going to go across and - I don't know - look at the sponsor list for a few hours, or something and try to clear my head."

Finnick looks as though he wants to say something. "I'm sorry."

"Yeah, well, I could say the same thing to you."

"Do you want to come to the roof?"

I pause.

"It's past midnight."

"Fresh air's always good," he says. "It's not sea air, but then again, I don't imagine the Capitol smells much like the woods. Still better than being cooped up indoors."

It's a classic excuse. Sylvia used it with me. I used it with Johanna. I nod.

We ride up and, in silent agreement, walk over towards the garden on the other side of the roof. It's late, but the streetlights and lights from the building keep the space bathed in warm light. Finnick goes to sit on a bench and observes one of the wind chimes, which is humming in the evening breeze.

"Haymitch got these put in last summer."

"I noticed," I say. "Makes it loud here."

He smiles. "Mm."

"Why'd he do it?"

"I suppose he just likes music," he says, and looks at me funny for a moment. His expression changes. "Atticus Nero. I didn't think you'd be his type."

"Apparently he's been desperate to meet me."

"Didn't think you'd bite, either," Finnick says. "You must really want to keep that girl alive."

I shrug. "I like her."

"Bad idea," he says. "You shouldn't like your tributes. Of course, who am I to say that. I made worse deals for Annie last year."

"Anyone worse than Atticus Nero?"

"Plenty," he shudders. "That's what makes him so bad. I almost like him."

"Almost," I say. "If I could get over the gaudy decor."

Finnick laughs. "It's the worst." He pauses for a moment, thinking. "It's easier when it's men, though. At the very least, I can separate the situation completely, considering I'm not even the tiniest bit attracted to them."

"Wish I could say the same."

"What, you found Atticus Nero attractive?"

"No!" I laugh, despite myself. "I just can't have that separation, I guess."

"What about the women?"

"No luck there either."

"That's a shame."

"Yeah," I say.

We sit in silence for a while. Finnick thumbs one of the wind-chimes. "I hate them."

"Yeah," I agree.

"Do you ever wish you could do something about it?"

I turn to look at him. "Sorry?"

"I said - don't you wish you could do something about it. Y'know. Stop them. Stop this."

I pause. "Of course I do. But -"

" - but?"

"What are we supposed to do about it?" I say. "I mean, they control everything, Finnick."

He smiles at me. "Yeah. But if you could -"

"If I could -" I start, and then pause. There's something about the way he's looking at me now. So carefully. He's looking for something. I choose my words carefully. " - I mean, I'd do it, if I could. Of course I would. I don't have a single doubt about that. But right now, my priority is keeping Johanna alive."

He nods. "Yeah. I know."

"Would you?"

There's a pause.

"I'd burn myself and this whole place down if I could. Just need a match."

"A match," I echo.

"Mm."