chapter O6 ██████████ ☄. *. ⋆ fiery rides
❝ Like a vision she dances across the porch as the radio plays. ❞
━━ Bruce Springsteen.
I PRESS MY HEAD AGAINST THE GLASS WINDOW, LETTING MY EYES CATCH THE LAST SNIPPETS OF MY HOME AS THE TRAIN WHISTLES BY DISTRICT TELVE FOR THE LAST TIME. I REMEMBER the first time I set foot in this moving carriage, along with Peeta Mellark after the seventy-fourth Reaping. I was already readying my mind for the games, thinking about how much I needed to win, for Prim. Now, I wonder what my last words should be in the arena.
Too heartsick to cry, I stay planted in my seat, watching as Haymitch pours the last of his alcohol in his teal teacup. I feel bad for the man, that probably never expected to be thrown back into the Hunger Games, especially because of his own Victor. I wonder who will go first--him or me? I know my first instinct will be to protect him, to keep him at my side; and I know he will slowly drift away, guilt gnawing at his chest for slowing me down.
The clink of Effie's heels have a habit of reeling me back to reality though, and she does as she strides into the room, a brand new outfit fitted onto her body. She wears a red dress and a new, striking wig that catches my immediate attention. It matches her makeup, and consists of a blinding gold that could overpower the sun's light. "Before we begin, I've had a thought." she announces softly, peering towards us.
"You don't say?" Haymitch manages to joke, lifting his head up towards her. Effie gives a small smile before articulating her idea.
"Jade has her gold, mockingjay pin," she begins, making brief eye-contact. "I have my hair. I am going to get you something gold." she says, eyes glistening in pride as she looks over to Haymitch. However, he doesn't express particular enthusiasm, cocking his head to the side in thought.
"Maybe we could get you a wig, too," I say in an attempt at lightness, not particularly hating Effie's proposal.
"Why?" he asks, clearly unconvinced.
"A token. To show them we are a team. And they can't just--" Effie's voice suddenly breaks, and I can almost notice the tears reaching her irises. I catch her hand, squeezing it affectionately for an instant and sparing her a soft glance. It's evident our return in the games somewhat affects her, and I try my best to seem stable next to her.
"Thank you." I breathe genuinely. My escort's effort to put in place different measures to heighten out chances to appeal to the public, and therefore gain sponsors, does make me somewhat grateful. Haymitch leans forward, grabbing Effie's other free hand in equal support.
Effie sighs in delight and regains total composure as she begins to start another phrase. "Now, you have to know everything will be different because it's a Quarter Quell. The Capitol has spared no expense. A new training centre, new tribute living quarters, and of course, a very special arena." she describes, almost enthusiastically as she pictures our new home for a few days. "But this year you'll be facing new Victors. Capitol favourites: smart, cunning, skilled. And they all know each other. Jade, sweetheart, you're the outsider." her eyes don't leave mine as she articulates this last sentence.
"Great." I falsely mumble, sparing Haymitch a quick glance. It is true, though; I am the only one with no connections, and have failed to build actual relationships with any of the past Victors in the last year. Haymitch, on the contrary, may have a few acquaintances here and there, and I dare wonder if he'll drop me to join his fellow friends. Why stay with a clueless teenage girl when you have lethal friends offering you a possible alliance? I attempt to shrug away the thought, feeling my heart drop immediately.
━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━
We've arrived in the Capitol and I barely have time to appreciate the luxury offered to me when my entire team sit me in the living room. Now's the time to watch the recap of the Reapings and apprehension plays at my heart. I have a single doubt inking my mind, and I fiercely hope I'm wrong. Anyways, I'm about to have my answer in the following minutes. I rest my head against my hand, waiting for the screen to light up and present my new rivals. Yet, at the supposed delay, Haymitch manages to squeeze in a few words of advice. "Jade, I want you to forget everything you think you know about the Hunger Gamers." he begins, and I already feel myself losing hope. "Last year was child's play. This year, you're dealing with experienced killers."
"Okay--and what am I supposed to do with that?" I ask, because I don't see the purpose of the speech if it's only going to wash away my motivation.
"This means you're going to have to make allies." he replies, placing a firm hand onto my shoulder. I can tell he believes I'll be a problem in the process of making friends. "Look, you're starting at a disadvantage, most these people have been friends for years. God, I'm friends with them."
"Which obviously puts me higher on their kill list." I come to a quick conclusion, my lips curling into a frown.
"Do this your own way, but I know these people, and you can use that to your advantage. You are my district partner, after all." Haymitch adds, and I can't help but nod. "Plus, you have no problem putting on the charming girl that can bring light into a room when you actually try."
Before I can come up with a reply, the screen suddenly lights up and fills the room with brightness. My eyes automatically plant themselves on the screen, and my heart speeds up in dread. In the history of the Games, there have been seventy-five victors. Fifty-nine are still alive. Twenty-two of them will show up on the television in the following seconds.
Obviously, District 1's Reaping is the first to play, and I recognise the classically beautiful brother and sister who were victors in consecutive years when I was little. "Cashmere and Gloss. Brother and sister. District 1." Haymitch says, validating my thoughts. "They're Capitol favourites, lots of sponsors. They will be lethal." he briefly describes. "Now, the other half of the Career Pack."
I prepare myself for District 2's Reaping, and I unconsciously let my fingers play with the fabric of my dress. I desperately wish that my mind is playing tricks on me, and that I will not be seeing a certain blond-haired boy appear on the screen. I don't pay much attention to the female tribute that pops up, rather waiting for the male tribute to be picked. It's all I can focus on. "Brutus Lunn." I throw my head back in relief as I realise Cato's name has not been called out. Thank g--
"I volunteer!" I hear a voice exclaim, and my eyes widen in horror as they watch Cato Hadley step up and suddenly invade the screen. He wears a confident smirk, playing the public, as usual. The female tribute and him hold their hands up in the air, both their faces translating the feeling of excitement. What an idiot.
"Fucking hell." Haymitch grunts while I burry my head in my hands. "Now, Jade--"
"It's fine. I'm fine." I interrupt, grinding my teeth together, clearly not fine. "Let's just watch the other reapings. Please." Haymitch peers towards me, possible worry tinting his eyes, but he keeps his mouth shut, which is enough for the moment.
"Wiress and Beetee, not fighters, but brilliant. And weird, real tech-savvy. He won his games by electrocuting six tributes at once." Could be useful.
"The Morphlings. Basically won their games by hiding until everyone was dead. Self-medicating since then, which I applaud. Not a threat."
Then, when District 4's Reaping starts to play, I recognise the handsome bronze-haired guy who was crowned ten years ago at the age of fourteen. "Finnick Odair, right?"
Haymitch nods, "Extremely humble." he adds, though his words lack credibility as he grins confidently towards the camera, lifting his arm proudly.
"You're kidding."
"Yes, I'm kidding. He's a peacock, a total preener. But he's the Capitol darling, they love him here. Charming, smart, and very skilled in combat. Especially in water." Haymitch describes, and I wonder how I'll compete against a man that's not only extremely talented but has won over most of the sponsors. Especially the female ones.
"Any weaknesses I should know about?" I ask, desperate.
"One. Mags." he says, pointing to an old woman on the screen, that seems to be volunteering for a hysterical young woman with flowing ginger hair and shaking hands covering her mouth. Pity blossoms at my heart as I watch the scene unfold, and it's clear the fragile and aged woman won't make it. It's incredibly brave of her to volunteer, almost signing her death sentence. "Mags was his mentor, and practically raised him. If he's trying to protect her in any way, it exposes him."
"Come on, a guy like Finnick has to know she won't make it. I bet when it comes down to it he won't really protect her." I mutter, not believing in his supposed love for the old woman. How could an arrogant man truly dedicate his time in the arena to caring for Mags when it means slowing down his victory?
"Well, Jade, I just hope when she goes that she goes quickly. She's actually a wonderful lady." he speaks as Finnick and Mags hug tightly in the background. Though, even when I finish watching the readings, there's one thing that can't get out of mind. A thing that makes my heart sink in an ocean of desperation.
Yet, Haymitch probably notices the shifts in my expression, and I scrunch my eyebrows as I watch him catch another tape. The year of the Games is fifty. That would make it the second Quarter Quell. And the name of the victor is Haymitch Abernathy.
"Really?" I whisper, because Haymitch has made it repetitively clear that it was forbidden to watch his own hunger games. So, his initiative does shock me a little. I curl up on the couch, tugging my knees and getting ready to watch my mentor win the Quarter Quell, at loss of what I should expect.
I don't open my mouth when his reaping, his interview and the games play, simply dedicating my entire attention to the tape. His alliance with Maysilee Donner ends and I watch him squeeze her hand as she breathes her last words and all I can think of is Rue and how I was too late to save her, too. That leaves Haymitch and a girl from District 1 to vie for the crown. She's bigger than he is and just as fast, and when the inevitable fight comes, it's bloody and awful and both have received what could well be fatal wounds, when Haymitch is finally disarmed. He staggers through the beautiful woods, holding his intestines in, while she stumbles after him, carrying the ax that should deliver his deathblow. Haymitch makes a beeline for his cliff and has just reached the edge when she throws the ax. He collapses on the ground and it flies into the abyss. Now weaponless as well, the girl just stands there, thinking perhaps that she can outlast Haymitch. But what she doesn't know, and what he does, is that the ax will return. And when it flies back over the ledge, it buries itself in her head. The cannon sounds, her body is removed, and the trumpets blow to announce Haymitch's victory.
"That force field at the bottom of the cliff, it was like the one on the roof of the Training Center. The one that throws you back if you try to jump off and commit suicide. I found a way to turn it into a weapon." my mentor says, a slight smile quirking his lips.
"Not just against the other tributes, but the Capitol, too," I say. "You know they didn't expect that to happen, Haymitch. It made them look stupid that you figured it out. I bet they had a good time trying to spin that one. Bet that's why I don't remember seeing it on television. It's almost as bad as me and the berries!"
I can't help laughing, really laughing, for the first time in months.
"Almost, but not quite," says Haymitch from beside me.
I've spent all these weeks getting to know who my competitors are, without even thinking about who my teammates are. Now a new kind of confidence is lighting up inside of me, because I think I finally know who Haymitch is. And I'm beginning to know who I am. And surely, two people who have caused the Capitol so much trouble can think of a way to get at least one of us home alive.
━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━
Having been through prep with Flavius, Venia, and Octavia numerous times, it should just be an old routine to survive. But I haven't anticipated the emotional ordeal that awaits me. At some point during the prep, each of them bursts into tears at least twice, and Octavia pretty much keeps up a running whimper throughout the morning. It turns out they really have become attached to me, and the idea of my returning to the arena has undone them. Combine that with the fact that by losing me they'll be losing their ticket to all kinds of big social events, particularly my wedding, and the whole thing becomes unbearable. The idea of being strong for someone else having never entered their heads, I find myself in the position of having to console them. Since I'm the person going in to be slaughtered, this is somewhat annoying.
By the time Cinna shows up, I am irritable and exhausted from comforting the prep team, especially because their constant tears are reminding me of the ones undoubtedly being shed at home. Standing there in my thin robe with my stinging skin and heart, I know I can't bear even one more look of regret. So the moment he walks in the door I snap, "I swear if you cry, I'll kill you here and now."
Cinna just smiles. "Had a damp morning?"
"You could wring me out," I reply.
Cinna puts his arm around my shoulder. "Don't worry. I always channel my emotions into my work. That way I don't hurt anyone but myself."
"Thank god." I breathe, because I've always found Cinna to be my greatest support in the art of prepping me for any public appearance.
He deals with my hair first, curling it and letting it frame my face perfectly. My face is then almost obscured by the dramatic highlights and dark shadows. High arching eyebrows, sharp cheekbones, smoldering eyes, deep purple lips. The costume looks deceptively simple at first, just a fitted black dress that covers me from my chest down. He places a half crown like the one I received as victor on my head, but it's made of a heavy black metal, not gold. Then he adjusts the light in the room to mimic twilight and presses a button just inside the fabric. I look down, fascinated, as my ensemble slowly comes to life, first with a soft golden light but gradually transforming to the orange-red of burning coal. I look as if I have been coated in glowing embers—no, that I am a glowing ember straight from our fireplace. The colors rise and fall, shift and blend, in exactly the way the coals do.
"How did you do this?" I say in wonder.
"I spent a lot of hours watching fires," says Cinna. "Now look at yourself."
He turns me toward a mirror so that I can take in the entire effect. I do not see a girl, or even a woman, but some unearthly goddess who looks like she might make her home in the volcano that destroyed so many in Haymitch's Quell. The black crown, which now appears red-hot, casts strange shadows on my dramatically made-up face. Jade, the girl on fire, has left behind her flickering flames and bejeweled gowns and soft candlelight frocks. She is as deadly as fire itself.
"I think ... this is just what I needed to face the others," I say.
"Yes, I think your days of pink lipstick and ribbons are behind you," says Cinna. He touches the button on my wrist again, extinguishing my light. "Let's not run down your power pack. When you're on the chariot this time, no waving, no smiling. I just want you to look straight ahead, as if the entire audience is beneath your notice."
"That won't be too hard for me to do." I smile.
Cinna has a few more things to attend to, so I decide to head down to the ground floor of the Remake Center, which houses the huge gathering place for the tributes and their chariots before the opening ceremonies. I'm hoping to find Haymitch, but he hasn't arrived yet. My eyes also scan the space for Cato, but he's not present, not yet. Unlike last year, when all the tributes were practically glued to their chariots, the scene is very social. The victors, both this year's tributes and their mentors, are standing around in small groups, talking. Of course, they all know one another and I don't know anyone, so I wonder who I should approach first. I don't have to think for too long.
The crunching hits my ear before I even know he's beside me, and when I turn my head, Finnick Odair's famous sea green eyes are only inches from mine. He pops a sugar cube in his mouth and leans against my horse.
"Hello, Jade," he says, as if we've known each other for years, when in fact we've never met.
"Hello, Finnick," I say, just as casually.
"Want a sugar cube?" he asks, offering his hand, which is piled high. "They're supposed to be for the horses, but who cares? They've got years to eat sugar, whereas you and I ... well, if we see something sweet, we better grab it quick."
I can't argue that Finnick isn't one of the most stunning, sensuous people on the planet. But I can honestly say he's never been attractive to me. Maybe he's too pretty, or maybe he's too easy to get, or maybe it's really that he'd just be too easy to lose.
Instead of replying, I pick up the sugar cube from his open hand and plop it on my tongue. I don't know if he believes he's intimidating me, but two can play this game. His eyebrows rise for a second as I say "I'd love to borrow your outfit sometime too."
He's draped in a golden net that's strategically knotted at his groin so that he can't technically be called naked, but he's about as close as you can get. I'm sure his stylist thinks the more of Finnick the audience sees, the better.
"And you're absolutely drop-dead gorgeous in that getup. What happened to the pretty little-girl dresses?" he asks. He wets his lips just ever so slightly with his tongue.
"I outgrew them," I simply state.
"It's too bad about this Quell thing. You could have made out like a bandit in the Capitol. Jewels, money, anything you wanted." Finnick adds, taking one last look at my dress.
"Even if I am missing out on some jewels, I have more money than I need. What do you spend all yours on, anyway, Finnick?" I taunt, a sly smile resting on my lips.
"Oh, I haven't dealt in anything as common as money for years," Finnick replies.
"Then how do they pay you for the pleasure of your company?" I ask.
"With secrets," he says softly. He tips his head in so his lips are almost in contact with mine. "What about you, girl on fire? Do you have any secrets worth my time?"
For some stupid reason, I blush, but I force myself to hold my ground. "No, I'm an open book," I whisper back. "Everybody seems to know my secrets before I know them myself."
He smiles. "Unfortunately, I think that's true." His eyes flicker off to the side. "Sorry you have to cancel your wedding. I know how devastating that must be for you." He tosses another sugar cube in his mouth and saunters off.
I barely have time to process the flirty conversation when I suddenly feel my heart drop. There he is, eyes narrow as they land on Finnick Odair. I don't know what I want to do: sink into his arms for being here or slap him across the face for volunteering. As if he's read my thoughts, his eyes lock with mine and he's already striding over.
"My dazzling soon-to-be wife, there you are." he snickers, placing a confident hand on my waist. I tell myself to not back away in risk of attracting attention to our fake-couple, but I know that's not the truth. Instead, I press my heeled-foot on his, pressing hard until he looses his grin.
"How could you, Hadley?" I seethe, trying to make my voice as quiet as possible to not raise any suspicions.
"Come on, what was everyone going to think if I let you go in those games alone." he barks back.
"So what? You don't volunteer because you're scared of what your fans will think." I notice eyes inspecting us discreetly as the argument heightens, so I lace my arms around Cato's neck, to make it seem like a normal, loving conversation.
"Everdeen, I volunteered to protect you." he says, and his words make me halt.
"How are you going to protect me in an arena full of your Career friends. In an arena where I'm first on their kill list. In an arena where I barely have a chance of making it." I feel that if I speak more, my voice will break, and weakness cannot seep in. Not now anyways.
"Sweetheart, just trust me okay." he says, a confident smile back on his lips.
"I'm so incredibly mad at you." I sigh, stroking his cheek in case any gazes were still planted on us.
"I can live with that. What I can't live with is watching you risk your life as I'm home, safe." he whispers, and he almost looses his arrogant facade. Almost.
The music is beginning and I see the wide doors opening for the first chariot, hear the roar of the crowd. "I'll be watching you from my chariot." Cato winks as he heads back towards Enobaria, and I hope the blush spreading on my cheeks isn't too visible. I shake my head seconds later, so angry at myself for letting me constantly get swept away by his touch or words.
Thankfully, Haymitch joins me and my worries slowly flow way as he gives me a hand to climb onto the chariot. I shoot him a genuine smile as we stand next to each other, and I stop myself from laughing at the image in front of me. Haymitch, all dressed up. God, we're matching!
"You look very handsome, Haymitch." I smile, locking my arm under his.
"I know, I know." he jokes, brushing a stand of his hair away from his face. Before I can truly let out a genuine giggle, the carriage suddenly starts, threatening to knock me off my feet. Just like last year. Guess there are some things you never truly get used to.
"Remember, no waving." Haymitch whispers against my ear.
The voice of the crowd rises into one universal scream as we roll into the fading evening light, but neither one of us reacts. I simply fix my eyes on a point far in the distance and pretend there is no audience, no hysteria. I can't help catching glimpses of us on the huge screens along the route, and we are not just beautiful, we are dark and powerful. No, more. We are the only two Victors from District 12, who suffered so much and enjoyed so little the rewards of our victory, do not seek the fans' favor, grace them with our smiles, or catch their kisses. We are unforgiving.
And I love it. Getting to be myself at last.
As we curve around into the loop of the City Circle, I can see that a couple of the other stylists have tried to steal Cinna's idea of illuminating their tributes. The electric-light-studded outfits from District 3, where they make electronics, at least make sense. But what are the livestock keepers from District 10, who are dressed as cows, doing with flaming belts? Broiling themselves? Pathetic.
Haymitch and I, on the other hand, are so mesmerizing with our ever-changing coal costumes that most of the other tributes are staring at us. We seem particularly riveting to the pair from District 6, who are known morphling addicts. Both bone thin, with sagging yellowish skin. They can't tear their overlarge eyes away, even when President Snow begins to speak from his balcony, welcoming us all to the Quell. The anthem plays, and as we make our final trip around the circle, am I wrong? Or do I see the president fixated on me as well?
Haymitch and I wait until the doors of the Training Center have closed behind us to relax. Cinna and the rest of the team are there, pleased with our performance. Yet, before they can shower us with their usual admiration, Haymitch speaks. "Oh, hey, Jade, I've got a few special friends I want you to meet."
"How exciting." I smile as he draws me away and towards the tributes from Eleven.
I know Chaff by sight because I've spent years watching him pass a bottle back and forth with Haymitch on television. He's dark skinned, about six feet tall, and one of his arms ends in a stump because he lost his hand in the Games he won thirty years ago. I'm sure they offered him some artificial replacement, but I guess he didn't take it.
The woman, Seeder, has golden brown eyes that mark her as from District 11. She must be around sixty, but she still looks strong, and there's no sign she's turned to liquor or morphling or any other chemical form of escape over the years. Before either of us says a word, she embraces me. I know somehow it must be because of Rue. Before I can stop myself, I whisper, "The families?"
"They're alive," she says back softly before letting me go.
Chaff throws his good arm around me and gives me a big kiss right on the mouth. I jerk back, startled, while he and Haymitch guffaw.
"He's very friendly." my district partner laughs, amusement flickering over his features. I can't help for a similar laugh to leave my lips, most likely triggered by pure shock. "Now, Jade, don't invite him over, he'll drink up all your liquor."
"I wasn't planning on it." I mumble softly, and that sends all of them into a fit of genuine laughter.
"Anyways, I'll see you guys later." Haymitch chuckles, pulling me away once again and towards the elevator. When I'm about to step in, I feel a hand on the the small of my back. Cato. I jump a the opportunity to make him nervous. As nervous as me.
"Shame this is a public elevator." I whisper so only he can hear, and I don't even watch his reaction. A smile dangles innocently on my coloured lips. Yet, I feel someone else rustling up to my side. The girl pulls off a headdress of leafy branches and tosses it behind her without bothering to look where it falls.
Johanna Mason. From District 7 Lumber and paper, thus the tree. She won by very convincingly portraying herself as weak and helpless so that she would be ignored. Then she demonstrated a wicked ability to murder. She ruffles up her hair and rolls her wide-set brown eyes. "Isn't my costume awful? My stylist's the biggest idiot in the Capitol. Our tributes have been trees for forty years under her. Wish I'd gotten Cinna. You look fantastic."
Girl talk. That thing I've always been so bad at. Opinions on clothes, hair, makeup. So I lie. "Yeah, he's been helping me design my own clothing line. You should see what he can do with velvet." Velvet. The only fabric. I could think of off the top of my head.
"I have. On your tour. That strapless number you wore in District Two? The deep blue one with the diamonds? So gorgeous I wanted to reach through the screen and tear it right off your back," says Johanna.
I bet you did, I think. With a few inches of my flesh.
While we wait for the elevators, Johanna unzips the rest of her tree, letting it drop to the floor, and then kicks it away in disgust. Except for her forest green slippers, she doesn't have on a stitch of clothing. "That's better."
We end up on the same elevator with her, and she spends the whole ride to the seventh floor chatting to Cato while the light of my still-glowing costume reflects off her bare breasts. "Anyways, how do you feel now that the world wants you to sleep with you?" she asks, and I suck in a breath.
"Oh--"
"I was talking about Jade." she finally adds before stepping off the elevator, leaving me with an agape mouth. I ignore Cato, though, but I just know he's grinning. I toss aside his hand as the doors close behind Haymitch, that spotted Chaff and Seeder, leaving us alone, and he breaks out laughing.
"What the hell is up with her?" I ask, staring at her discarded clothes on the floor.
"It's you, Jade. Can't you see?" he says.
"What's me?"
"Why they're all acting like this. Finnick with his sugar cubes and Chaff kissing you and that whole thing with Johanna stripping down." He tries to take on a more serious tone, unsuccessfully. "They're playing with you because they find you so--you know."
"No, I don't know." I reply, eyebrows furrowing at the small smile on his lips.
"I can't put it into words, Jade." he breathes just as the elevator stops at my floor.
"Maybe you can show me then." I tease, before completely stepping out of the elevator. My lips curl into a smirk when I know his eyes are following me as I walk to my door. I turn my head one last time, making a final eye-contact before entering my headquarters.