Disclaimer: All Hunger Games characters and core personality traits are the property of SC. I own nothing, nor do I plan on profiting from using her work. No copyright infringement is intended.
Chapter Two
Katniss dutifully held a bag of ice to the large knot forming on the side of her mentor’s head.
She was no great healer like her mother or Prim, but Effie had taken one look at the purpling wound before promptly fainting and the stubborn man hadn’t allowed a single Capital attendant anywhere near him, so she was left to the task by default. Haymitch was still scathing from the incident but Katniss could sense that it was his pride that had taken the most painful of blows, not the alcohol ravaged brain that resided between his ears.
Had she not been so shaken, it might have been funny; Haymitch storming in to rescue her and getting knocked out cold by the eighteen-year old career before he had gotten out a single syllable of threat. He had managed to get Mellark away from her—even if having him lightly reprimanded for assaulting a mentor hadn’t been the original plan.
She snorted a laugh at the memory, unable to exert her usual level of control with such hopelessly rattled nerves, and was pinned with his famous, scornful glare.
“Yeah…real fuckin’ funny, sweetheart. I’m sure the whole nation will get a little giggle when its you he’s beatin’ on once the games start,” Haymitch drawled.
The clever girl took no offense. District Twelve’s mentor had been hard on her from the moment she stepped foot on the train to the main event. He was gentle with the boy tribute, kind even, and it took Katniss a few days to see the distinction for what it really was. Abernathy had already given the child up for dead. Like the behavior seen in so many species of wild animal, he had decided that humoring the weakest of his litter wasn’t worth the attention it would divert from the youngling that had a lick of chance. He had more or less cast him aside to tend to the gem of the slums—the Capital’s beloved Girl on Fire.
Haymitch showed her no mercy in the exact fashion the arena would deny it to her.
“Well come on,” he insisted, pushing the icepack and her hand away from him, “What did the mutt have to say before you let him shove his whole god-damn tongue down your throat?”
This she did take offense to, partly because it implied that she’d been an equal partner in the interaction with the uncompromising Career, but also because it called to inspection the few beats of time in which she had willingly succumb to his force.
Her majestic eyes—the exact shade of the coal dust that coated her home district—flashed so intensely at the jab that even Haymitch squirmed in his seat.
“Nothing of consequence,” she dismissed, finding the idea of rehashing Peeta’s words both unnecessary and embarrassing.
Her mentor wouldn’t allow the brush off, “Nothing any of them says to you at this point is without consequence,” he growled at her, the exasperation of reasoning with a particularly stupid child, “There’s more strategy to this than shooting squirrels out of their nut holes. If you haven’t realized that by now-“
“He wants me to join his careers so he can fuck me,” she interrupted, expression mild but tongue sharp, “If I don’t wait for him after the slaughter at the cornucopia, his entire focus will be devoted to hunting me down.”
The older man showed no reaction to blunt announcement that would have had Effie blushing red right through all those layers of makeup, but Katniss watched as he stood and poured a generous helping of the amber liquid he’d been cutting back on.
He handed it to her.
“And you don’t think this is important, why?”
She was willing to bet Prim’s goat that the first sip of his liquor put actual hair on her chest but she felt silly looking. “Not unimportant. It just doesn’t change anything,” she shrugged, “I’m not stronger than him but I’m probably faster.”
“Irrelevant. You just landed yourself an ally,” Haymitch corrected simply.
Katniss was sure she had misunderstood, “You have to be joking.”
“Serious as a heart attack, sweetheart,” he met her gaze evenly. As though the little sliver of confidence in winning she had lost back in that elevator had been transferred to him, his eyes glittered with it, “There’s a reason the Careers win nine times out of ten. If you spend even the first half of the game in that alliance, you stand more of a chance than any of them.”
“Assuming he doesn’t kill me the moment he’s in range,” she argued what she considered to be a major hole in the plan. “It’s a trick. And not even a tempting one! Those terms are hardl-“
“Now’s not the time to guard that maidenhead, princess. You can negotiate that on your terms or his. If he wants it, he’ll take it,” he told her, a touch of sympathy she wished he’d forgo altogether.
Her brain tried to process his meaning but it stumbled and tripped around the truth, protective and unwilling. The Hunger Games were a pitch-black cloud on the already darkened sky of existence in the districts but that had never, in her recollection, been a part of their horrors.
“But he can’t-,” she murmured, “They wouldn’t let him-“
Her mentor placed a comforting hand on her shoulder but didn’t sugarcoat anything for her sake, “There are no rules in the arena, tribute Everdeen,” he repeated a common sentiment, thus giving it new meaning, “You don’t think the occasional sick fuck doesn’t take advantage of that?”
She didn’t want to believe him. She had always assumed that the worst the games could bring her was death. “But I’ve never seen that happen,” she whispered.
“Of course you hadn’t. The games are meant to disturb the districts, not entice. That footage is only for the Capital viewers,” he informed bitterly, “If the game makers just wanted a good fight they’d throw district males into the arena and let the blood fall.”
Katniss tried to figure out what this added element meant for her. She had no noted attachment to her chastity. It prevailed mostly out of lack of interest in the boys of Twelve than out of any conscious show of restraint on her behalf. Once, in the weeks following the death of her father, when her little sister was starving in front of her very eyes, she had considered bartering this piece of herself to a Peacekeeper known for taking advantage of girls in such situations. Had she not been much younger than his usual tastes, she would have become one of these girls, she was sure.
This wasn’t so different. This was still about survival.
I’d still have to trust him,” she shook her head pitifully, resigned, “I don’t want to trust anyone. Much less him.”
“Katniss, you had the best personal training scores awarded to a tribute in three years. He’s already set the two of you up as the exclusive recipients of sponsor dollars should you do even a marginally convincing job of mutual affection. Get it out of your head that you aren’t a commodity worth keeping alive because if you don’t believe it… they won’t either.”
He sat back and appraised her with pride, “Use him to get your hands on that bow, sweetheart. Then use that to put an arrow through his eye like he’s one of your squirrels.”
Leave a Reply