This chapter is a little bit all over the place…bear with me!
Katniss
In the end, I learn nothing from messing around with Finnick, Gloss, and Gale. I do, however, have fun. Once I lower my hackles, there really is something enjoyable in the competition, and the sensation of fitting in is certainly a welcome one. Finnick declares me a "natural shot putter". Whatever that means.
Slowly but surely, I get used to District Thirteen. My classes become more bearable, and while I don't make any friends among my fellow students, they eventually stop staring at me so intensely. Peeta and I stick together, but we always join the other Careers for meals.
Unfortunately, that includes Storm, who I have been working to avoid as much as possible. Her temper grows shorter with every passing day they don't let her join in on the military training. She still refuses to go to school, but I don't know what she actually does with her time. I don't want to know, either.
More than anything, I scour the news for any word on my family. Tragically, continuously, there is nothing. I spend every hour of my free time watching Capitol TV, but nobody breathes a word about it. They might as well be dead. Consequently, I am now well-versed in Capitol fashion trends and popular restaurants. Don't wear yellow.
As usual, Peeta tries to look on the bright side, but I'm convinced there isn't one. No news is good news, he likes to tell me, even though every day of "no news" probably takes another year off my life. There are moments where I can forget, sure. But there are many more moments where my heart beats way too fast, and I can think of nothing else. Where I lie awake and alone, worrying.
Since I was eleven years old, my main goal in life has been to take care of my family. I did that so well for so long- I hunted; I kept them fed and off the streets. Now I've failed that, just as Gale failed me. They're trapped- or dead- and there's not a damn thing I can do about it. This is my worst nightmare.
I hate District Thirteen, for being safe and relatively comfortable. Most of the time, I'd rather be back in the arena: fighting for my life but being in blissful ignorance. My comparatively-luxurious current status makes it seem all the more unfair.
Nevertheless, life goes on, and while my worry will never go away completely, there are more and more times throughout the week where I find myself enjoying life. Quizzing Peeta on our grammar lessons and letting him poke fun at me for using commas wrong. Meeting Turquoise's real, alive pet lizard James- he's much larger than the robotic version she carried in the Games, but colored exactly the same. Even just talking and laughing at dinner like we all are now.
Well…all except one. Storm seems to be in an especially ferocious mood today, glowering at the rest of us anytime we say a word. I more or less tune her out. This is typical of Storm, and it's otherwise been a good day, and I won't let her get in the way of that. It's just unfortunate we have to share a bedroom at the end of the day.
"You should have seen him!" H exclaims, gesturing to Nolan for at least the fifth time in ten minutes. "I'm telling you, that man is a machine. He was born to assemble and dissemble rifles at top speed."
"Oh, please." Nolan pretends to act humble, but I can tell he's enjoying the attention. His sea-green eyes are lit up with pride- a compliment seems to mean more coming from H than from anyone else. "You weren't so bad yourself, Hunt."
"Maybe we just make a good team," H offers.
Beside me, Storm emits a low growl, like a dog right before it bites, that I doubt anyone else hears.
"You are a good team," Turquoise huffs. "Actually, it's not fair to the rest of us! How are we supposed to keep up when the instructors keep pairing you together?!"
"Maybe you should try getting good," Nolan retorts, making it clear they are just joking around.
There is murder in Storm's eye that does not look like a joke to me. This conversation has combined two things she really doesn't like: H and Nolan's growing friendship, and the reminder that other people are doing fun war games while she spends her days sulking.
I don't say anything, though. That's kind of how it goes. The four "adults" (they sure don't act like adults) keep up a rousing conversation and Peeta and I just listen. Storm is usually quiet too, although she occasionally contributes scathing comments. I would guess we are only moments away from one of those now.
"I am good!" Turquoise insists. "It's my partner who's the problem!"
For a moment, Thunder- her district partner- looks offended, but then she reassures him. "Not you. My other partner."
This brings me just a little bit of amusement, because Turquoise's other partner is Gale. They've been somewhat pushed together in training because they're both important-but-young leaders of the rebellion and they could learn a lot from each other. As she tells the story, the only thing she's learned from Gale is that she doesn't like him and he's deadweight. I don't know if that's true or not- Turquoise has been known to exaggerate- but it would really be funny if it was.
"Oh. Him." Instantly, Thunder is back to his good-natured self, chowing down on his turnips and rice. That's another thing that's gotten easier- the food. Once you accept that it all tastes the same, it's really not that bad. "I don't know why they don't pair you and me together anymore, Turq."
"I assumed you had specifically requested it," she jokes. "Maybe they assume we'd be too powerful as a team."
"I am sure that's not it," Storm mutters dryly. She's barely touched her meal. That's how you know it's serious- when Storm goes on a hunger strike, you can assume the world is about to end.
"I just want to do seek and destroy again!" Nolan complains. "Search and rescue is alright, yeah…but they need to actually prepare us for battle!"
I, on the contrary, am more interested in search and rescue than anything else. But that's the difference between Nolan and I- my family is in desperate need of rescue, and his entire family is dead.
"Snow!" Turquoise exclaims.
For a moment, I think she's back to her old weird ways, but then I follow her gaze to the cube of screens hanging down from the ceiling in the center of the room. Most of the time, they display the time or bits of the rebel propaganda Gale has been working on, and I ignore them. Right now, they are playing video of our nation's president, the man behind the murder.
Coriolanus Snow. I watch his image with narrowed eyes, feeling my fear spike even though he is surely still hundreds of miles away from me. He doesn't have to be close. He just has to be visible. I hate this man with every fiber of my being. He made the Hunger Games what they are today. He's the reason Prim and I are on opposite sides of the country right now, and that makes him my greatest enemy- although, I've never met him in person, and I doubt he really knows who I am.
But why is he on television in District Thirteen?
The whole room falls silent; even the clinking of silverware on trays ceases completely. We're all staring. All wondering. All worrying.
The shot zooms out and I realize where President Snow is. He's with Caesar Flickerman in the Tribute Center, the same studio where all of us were interviewed before we entered the arena. President Snow is in the chair I occupied just a few weeks ago. How bizarre.
"Citizens of Panem, I invite you to listen," Caesar intones. He's a fantastic presenter and pretty damn likable for a Capitol citizen, but he looks uneasy right now. His fingers drum on the armrests of his plush chair a little too quickly. "As you may have notice, we are joined by a very special guest this evening. Please welcome, the one and only President Snow!"
Cheers and applause emanate from the studio audience. None from the cafeteria in District Thirteen. Storm looks like she's thinking about it- not because she genuinely admires the president, but because she enjoys causing mischief- but Nolan stops her with a very firm glare. In these unprecedented times, Nolan is the only one with any semblance of influence over our most unhinged Career.
"Thank you, Caesar." The president's voice is deep, almost grating. He looks out into the audience, as if he's surveying each and every one of them. Making notes of which ones to execute later. "I must thank all of you for your patience. The past week has brought many challenges to my staff and I…but as always, we have overcome. The Hunger Games will begin again in two days from now."
My heart rate spikes a second time.
Caesar Flickerman leans forward in his seat, as if he is truly desperate to hear more. And as if any of this is actually news to him. "…you mean that?"
A comical salmon-haired man who visibly loves Botox and an incredibly serious government official. I wish I could find their pairing funny, but I'm too busy being incredibly distressed. Peeta squeezes my hand under the table and I barely notice it.
"Would I lie to you?" President Snow would never engage in man-to-man banter, but he is remarkably close right now. "My Gamemakers and repair crews have been working day and night to ready us for this moment. Truly, I applaud them. But, regardless…adjustments will have to be made."
"What sort of adjustments?" Caesar's curiosity is shared by, I think, everyone in the world. "…or is that a secret?"
A tiny smile crosses Snow's face. He never smiles with his teeth. "It is not a secret, Caesar. In fact, I'd be thrilled to share these new developments with you, live, here."
"Go on," Caesar says nervously. His eyes dart back and forth. Nervous.
"As you know, a number of surviving tributes disappeared after vandalizing our arena."
"That's us!" Turquoise says brightly, completely inappropriate for the situation.
Caesar nods sagely, his tight ponytail bobbing with him. "Of course. The Career pack."
Snow makes no attempt to hide the distaste in his voice as he continues. "Fear not, they will be hunted down and returned to the arena eventually. But, my advisors and I have discussed this at length…and we determined that the Games must go on…with substitute tributes."
My heart sinks, and now I'm the one reaching for Peeta's hand.
"Substitute tributes," Caesar repeats, as if the words have a curious taste in his mouth. "Do you have anyone in mind?"
President Snow nods, his dark eyes finding me through the camera. "Conveniently, we have been provided with five excellent substitutes. We would have liked a fair seven- but in these extenuating circumstances, one can't expect a perfect solution."
I can't believe I thought they would cancel the Games. I can't believe I thought they'd let it go.
Snow lists the names now, slow, like he is savoring each one. "Jewel Brand. Maris Talisman. Hiron Hunt. Rye Mellark."
I know what he's going to say before he says it. Panic claws at my heart and I squeeze Peeta's hand so hard I'm sure it hurts.
"…and Primrose Everdeen."
It's like I'm falling.
It's like I can feel the world spinning out around me.
I'm only dimly aware of the people around me. The murmurs rippling through the crowd, dinners all forgotten. Peeta is next to me. I think he's reacting too- his brother, after all- but my vision is blurring and I'm shoving my chair away from the table.
Rage. Terror. A hundred different things. I push through the cafeteria, ignoring all the people who tell me I'm not supposed to leave. I don't care. It doesn't matter. Why would it matter?
I think Peeta calls after me, but I ignore him too. There's only one person I want to see right now, and I have a good guess as to where he is: Command, the hub for all the rebellion and District Thirteen leaders. They usually take their dinner hour later than the rest of us, so I assume that's where he is right now. I'm surprised I'm able to come up with such a coherent thought in my fury, but the unhinged part will come soon.
I vaguely remember Effie pointing out Command when she first gave me that tour of the place. I find it again fairly easily- the hallways are mostly empty- and yank open the steel door. As quickly as I swing it open, a dark hand latches onto my wrist. "Absolutely not. They're in the middle of an important propo."
Adrenaline makes me violent. I have to fight the urge to scratch his eyes out, but I force my body to relax and my breathing to slow down. I'm certain this man is just doing his job. He's in military uniform, with dark skin and no hair. The thought isn't important at the time, but it strikes me that he is the first person I've seen from this district that isn't plain and mousy.
"I need-" I'm panting. "I need to talk to Haymitch."
"Then wait," the man says firmly. "They've been trying to get this right for hours. I can't have you messing up a take."
"A take?" I ask dubiously.
"A try at filming. They're working on a propo…propaganda, like a commercial for the rebellion."
"I know what propaganda is," I say irritably. My shoulders sink. "I can wait, I guess."
"Whatever it is, it sounds important," the man deduces. "You can come in. just be quiet."
I doubt that's exactly protocol, but I cannot complain. I mutter a promise to be quiet and the man lets me into Command for the first time. Like everything else in this dystopian hellscape, it is gray. Very gray. But it's more interesting than any other room I've seen here. There are screens and keyboards everywhere, and a big window that look into what must be the film studio. It's filmed with cameras, spotlights, and exactly the people I came here looking for: Haymitch Abernathy and Gale Hawthorne.
The man's tight grip on my arm is all that prevents me from sprinting forward and banging on the window. I remind myself that I need to be patient, although any consequence I can think of feels completely insignificant in the moment. I need to talk to Haymitch. If I'm not thinking about that, I'm thinking about Prim. Prim, my sister, in the Hunger Games. This is my worst nightmare. This is everything I've worked to avoid.
This is worse than being reaped myself. This is the only thing worse than going into the arena myself.
"Just sit and watch for a bit," the man says gruffly. He stays at my side; apparently being left unattended is a privilege here. "You might learn something. I'm Lieutenant Boggs, by the way."
"Katniss Everdeen," I say in reply. I'm not going to shake his hand or anything. Introductions are the least of my worries.
Somewhat against my will, my heartbeat begins to slow down. I will not relax- I could never relax under these circumstances. I think this just means my attempts to distract myself are working. I take Boggs' advice and watch the scene beyond the window, although I doubt that I'll learn anything. What is there to learn from Gale in black armor, waving around a bow and trying to incite rebellion?
What is there to learn from Gale, period? He is an asshole, and after today, I am starting to think that's all he is.
Despite the thick glass and apparent soundproofing, I can hear his words clearly from the sound studio. "As long as the rebellion lives…Madge lives too! Panem, rise and fight!"
The words come out stiff and hollow. I can't imagine I'd do any better, but the poor effect of it still makes me cringe. Haymitch is making a face as well, and even the President- who is in the studio as well- looks displeased. I didn't think she was even capable of showing emotion.
"It's not good, is it?"
Boggs is on my left, and this sympathetic voice comes from my right. I jump about a foot- my heart rate had just been going down, dammit- and turn to see a small-but-loud-colored woman with a glum look on her face. There's no way she's from District Thirteen. Her blonde hair is buzzed on the sides, with flower-and-vine tattoos creeping up from her neck. No, she must be from the Capitol- there's no other explanation for the pure expression of self.
"I'm Cressida," she says when I don't respond. "Director of photography here in District Thirteen. Unfortunately, they haven't given me much to work with."
My voice comes out more like a croak. "I'm sorry to hear that."
"Well, such is life. And I've always enjoyed a challenge." Cressida's tone is both bubbly and mirthful, a combination that currently threatens to make me ill. "…although, the real challenge is not strangling Mr. Hawthorne, to be honest."
I scoff. "Get in line."
A wry grin splits her face. "You too, huh? Wait…"
Right before she's about to recognize me, the president yells, "CUT!" from inside the studio. A door slides open and it's like everyone on my side of the window quits holding their breath. Cressida leaves me without a word and begins a very serious conversation with President Coin and Plutarch Heavensbee.
Whatever they're talking about, I don't care. I wait until they're fully distracted, then slip through the door into the studio. I am a woman on a mission. I am going to tear Haymitch Abernathy limb from limb.
He's talking to Gale; he doesn't see me right away. That's probably for the best. I have a feeling he'd run if he saw me coming right now- I'm certain my expression says it all.
…and anything it doesn't say, I will be happy to clear up for him. "Haymitch," I growl, putting every ounce of fury within me into that one word.
He looks up but doesn't even blink. Gale, on the contrary, looks horrified. "Katniss. I figured you'd show up at some point."
"Cut the crap, Haymitch." I feel rabid. It takes all I have not to grab him by the collar and shake him. Haymitch is a lot bigger than me- it's the beer belly, mainly- but right now I think I'm just mad enough to do it. "Did- do you know- did you hear what they're doing? To those kids? To my sister?"
My father always told me that a wounded animal is the most dangerous one. That is me right now- wounded and lashing out with everything I have. Somehow, Haymitch responds to my tirade calmly. "I did. Plutarch's spies have kept us well-informed."
His quietness only infuriates me more, but it throws me off enough to get me to quit yelling. At least, briefly. "…you did."
I glower at both of them, alternately. Both Haymitch and Gale duck away from my gaze- I've still got it, baby. "And you didn't think to tell me? Or do something?"
Gale flinches, and I don't care. I don't care that I've hurt him. I hope to hurt him more. I turn on Haymitch, who flinches slightly less. "You promised me, Haymitch. You promised she'd be fine."
His guarded expression- so much like my own- cracks. When he speaks again, he genuinely sounds remorseful, although I really do not care. "I know. I know, Katniss."
"Why didn't you tell me?" I demand again.
He makes a vague gesture towards me. "This…is a factor."
My hand raises of its own will. I am going to slap him, but he continues after heaving a great sigh. "The truth is, there's nothing we could've done. Not a damn thing. You might think I make the world go 'round-"
Far from it, actually.
"-but the truth is, I don't carry much weight here," Haymitch confesses. "And you know District Thirteen- they wouldn't see it the way you- the way we do. Greater good and all that. Why beg them for a rescue mission they'd never allow to happen?"
"Because it's the right thing to do?" I snarl. I know by now there's little use in arguing with Haymitch- that's just as futile as the quest he's described to me. Instead, I turn my anger to Gale- Gale, who owes me, Gale, who has claimed to love me. "You. You're the Mockingjay. They have to listen to you. Don't they? Don't they?"
He's struggling for words. He visibly addled and trying to come up with something that could fix this, but there's nothing, and I feel no remorse because everything that's happened since Reaping Day is Gale's fault anyway. "Well…ah…they don't have to do anything, really."
I throw my hands in the air in frustration. It's dramatic but it's better than actually laying hands on either of them, which is what I'm going to do if they keep pissing me off. "That's your excuse?! Be serious, Gale! What if it was Rory? What if it was Vick?"
He shoots me a pained look that I want to wipe off his face with my fist. "Catnip, we're doing everything we can."
"Everything we can" is apparently nothing. I'm seething and this is not the time for nicknames.
"WELL YOU'RE DOING A TERRIBLE FUCKING JOB OF IT!" I burst out, suddenly overcome with emotion.
Now I've done it. Everyone who was previously in quiet conversation is now staring at me. None of them look happy. This includes the president, her dark eyes narrowed to slits like a snake.
I don't care. I don't regret it, even as my legs shake beneath me. All I can think of is Prim. Prim, my baby sister, the epitome of all that is kind of good. Prim, surely shaking just as badly, Prim, about to be forced into the arena.
I suck at writing Caesar Flickerman. I just can't get his tone right! Same for President Snow. Also, arguing with Haymitch and Gale- I really thought that scene would come pretty naturally, but it did NOT. Obviously the problem is me.
Next chapter is from Prim's POV! Will post on Monday. Or tomorrow if I feel so inclined.