Disclaimer: I do not own The Hunger Games or Alice in Wonderland.

Thank you to NKubie and Guy for pre-reading and my beta, Vintagejgc. I appreciate the help!

Chapter Seven: An Empty Oyster Bed

Caesar Flickerman flies away; wings of vibrant amethyst-blue flutter and float into the horizon and I stare, transfixed. Then I look at the mushroom beside me. I break a big chunk from the right side and sniff it. It smells of the earth, but it's really some kind of poison in disguise, something that has the power to transform my body in miraculous and insane ways. What in the world have the gamemakers used to make such things happen? I can't even fathom...

But I don't linger in thought. I can't. I have to keep moving. I break a piece off the left side and compare the two. They are identical in every way. I take a breath and bite a tiny piece off the one in my right hand.

I tingle and shake, I rise a few feet off the ground. A few more little bites and I'm close to my proper height. I feel stronger, more confident, I waste no more time.

My promise to Prim echoes silently inside my head as I make my way through the trees. The forest starts to feel familiar, the smells, and the sounds...my senses tingle in recognition. I am still alive and I must try to win this. For Prim and for Rue, I have to at least try.

I slow my steps, taking cover behind a tree when I hear voices-two voices, high-pitched and excited, both female. I see them as I peer around the tree, one short and plump, and the other tall and dangerously thin. The women are wearing matching outfits- tight black cat suits with wide, bright yellow belts, and tiny matching yellow top hats upon their heads. They stand facing me, arms akimbo, smirking, their faces littered with swirling gold tattoos.

Portia? Octavia?

I gasp at my prep team, what are they doing here? Is that really them? Could they be mutts?

They start giggling and dancing, in sweeping strides they move toward me wielding not weapons but tweezers and hair brushes.

"Katniss Everdeen, how you get so hairy so quickly is simply beyond me," Octavia huffs and raises the tweezers menacingly. I take a few steps back, surprised they reached me so quickly. Portia's hair brush is mere inches from my head before Octavia reaches out to block her.

"No, Cinna said not to touch her hair, the braid is timeless, a classic style." She's glaring at Portia now who nods and stands down, dropping her hands to her sides.

Octavia reaches over and tucks a few wisps of hair behind my ear. "You have an understated beauty, so raw, yet pure as snow."

"You've never even seen snow," Portia says as she moves in to polish my mockingjay pin.

"I've seen it on TV," Octavia says rolling her eyes. With ninja-like speed she plucks a stray hair from my eyebrow and smiles. "Much better!"

"What... What are you doing here?" I ask, wide eyed and hoping she won't pluck anymore.

"Curious little thing, isn't she?" She grins and bumps Portia with her shoulder.

"Indeed," replies Portia enthusiastically, "I only hope she doesn't get too curious. You know what happens when curiosity runs rampant."

Octavia nods, pursing her lips. "It would be a shame really; the world doesn't need any more shellfish. No matter," she waves a hand dismissively, "Katniss must know that story. Everyone knows about the Walrus and those poor little oysters."

"What story?" I blurt out before I can stop myself. I really am curious.

They blink at me, their expressions unreadable.

"She can't be serious," they say in unison.

I shouldn't be surprised that they break out in song; it's ridiculous really, but ...I can't tell up from down in this place. Stranger things have happened. So I stand and watch as they sing me a story. There is something about the way they sing... their voices in perfect harmony, bodies swaying in a rhythm that is enchanting.

My eyes grow tired, my body heavy and I find myself sitting at their feet, unable to look away.

"The sun was shining on the sea, shining full and bright,

The walrus came into the games prepared only to fight.

He fought his way to victory, his trident held with pride,

He took to fame so instantly, oysters always at his side."

My body goes slack, my mind mesmerized by their song, I sit and listen and I visualize. I see the Walrus with his trident burning bright. Finnick Odair, winner of the 65th Hunger Games comes to mind, he had a trident, a shiny one. Haymitch made Peeta and I watch his games at the training center. I remember. Vaguely...

I can see him, walking with a swagger, naked from the waist up, he is beautiful.

Behind him is a line of oysters, all screaming his name, all reaching for him. They are so curious, this entire oyster bed, but Finnick...he is dismissive, his eyes traveling the length of the beach, he shrugs and opens his arms, the oysters swarm him.

His eyes gleam with something predatory, his gaze on the parade of oysters at his feet. He sings just like my stylists, he enchants them, leading them away like the pied piper.

"The time has come, my little friends, to talk of other things,

Of food and drink and drugs of choice, of what the future brings.

And while the sea is boiling hot, and my belly's hunger sings,

Calloo, Callay, secrets you say? I'll trade them for your wings!"

The tide swells in a wave of time, the beach now gloriously empty. Except for, of course, the Walrus. Finnick...he's grown tusks- which are heaving, his stomach bulging. At his feet are empty oyster shells that smell of the sea, and death. I wrinkle my nose in disgust.

He looks at me, right at me, and he looks drunk. Cheeks flushed, he cups himself and asks, "What about you, girl on fire? Do you have any secrets worth my time?"

I say nothing. I am shocked, confused. I feel like crying, or throwing up.

"We don't need his bread" Finnick slurs, "Oysters are brilliant with garlic and a butter sauce. Won't you join me? Won't you tell me everything?"

I'm pulled out of this daydream by the deafening sound of a cannon- so loud it makes my ears ring. I lean forward, hands over my ears. Portia and Octavia are wide eyed. They look scared, clutching on to each other, holding their breath.

Claudius Templesmith's voice booms down from overhead, congratulating the six victors who remain. He says something that confuses me; he talks of a rule change... A rule change! My breath catches, my mind alert. Rules go up in flames, the arena silent, everyone as curious as I am.

"Both tributes from the same district will be declared winners if they are the last two alive," Claudius states and the news sinks in.

Two tributes can win this year. If they're from the same district. Both can live. Both of us can live!

Before I can stop myself, I call out Peeta's name.

I'm running again. On a mission to find Peeta and form an alliance, convince him that together we can go home- the both of us. I start a fire as a ruse, hoping to draw the careers here while I track down the little white rabbit that I am sure is Peeta.

I head downhill to the stream, combing my surrounds for signs of life. I wander into places that I've never been, following the water he would need to survive.

The sun dips and falls, night comes and I keep moving into the dark, looking for shelter for the night. The trees here are short and bare, not good for hiding. I look up to survey the land.

There, in the nearest tree is a large cat, a Cheshire cat with purple and yellow stripes and the brightest eyes of gold. It lies back on the branch, its tale moving round in circles. With a delicate arch of his eyebrow, the cat says, "If I were looking for a white rabbit, I'd ask the Mad Hatter."

"The Mad Hatter? Oh, no, no, no..." Mad? This could be another tribute. I hesitate.

"Or you could ask the March Hare, in that direction. " He points due south.

"Oh, thank you. I think I'll see her." I say, wondering if I should ignore both his options and just keep following the stream...

"Of course, she's mad too."

I huff and pout. "But I don't want to go among mad people."

"Oh, you can't help that," says the Cat: "We're all mad here. I'm mad. You're mad."

"How do you know I'm mad?" I ask indignantly.

"You must be," he replies, "or you wouldn't have volunteered."

His statement galls me. I feel compelled to defend my choices. I keep my composure, I stand tall. "The fact that I volunteered doesn't make me crazy, it makes me...a hero."

The Cheshire cat laughs at my outburst, he giggles as I seethe. He laughs so hard he falls out of the tree, but he lands on his feet. He prances over to me; his golden eyes alight in the dark. Then he smiles softly, a genuine affection in his expression. "I think you could make a great hero, as a matter of fact, I'm counting on that. Do yourself a favor and see the Mad Hatter. The White Rabbit will be there. Give him this."

In his outstretched paw is Peeta's golden pocket watch. It's in a terrible state, scratched and bruised, busted up and broken, its hands still. The site of it makes me sad.

"Tick tock. It's a clock," he says, grinning so wide that it frightens me.

"Who are you?" I ask. Could he be a tribute in disguise? I stand up straighter, reaching for my quiver.

"Seneca Crane, Gamemaker, the man behind Wonderland. The Man who wants you to be a hero, Miss Mockingjay. Go see Hatter, have some tea, but don't relax for too long for the garden grows my dear."

He points to the path on my left and then winks and disappears, vanishing into nothing.

I take a breath, hold the pocket watch close to my chest and turn left. I run into the night on a path that will lead me to a mad man. I'm taking the advice of a Cheshire cat, and wondering if the games have taken my sanity.