Chapter Text
2nd February 75PD
The first hints of morning sunlight begin to push their way through the blackout blinds hanging in front of Cato’s bedroom window. Given that it’s early February, the first rays are low in the sky at half past seven and are reflecting brightly from the blanket of snow that covers the entirety of the District. The bitter cold winds form small crystalised droplets on the inside of the window panes from the difference in temperature resulting from Cato always having his heating on overnight after experiencing rude awakenings in the sub-zero climate of his arena. Clio can feel the soft breaths of her boyfriend against her neck from where his head is resting against her neck, his arms wrapped tightly around her body that pulls her back flush against his chest. With just enough manoeuvring, Clio is able to turn around in his grip to face him and appreciate the man in front of her before they have to face the day; a day which will be a challenge for all of them in Two. She takes in the way his cheeks are tinted a pale red from sleep and brushes a gentle hand across his face and into the messy strands of his hair to run her fingers through them and tame the effects of sleep. Cato’s head leans further into her hand absentmindedly and a content smile forms on his face when he feels a soft kiss placed on his cheek, causing him to increase his grip and pull Clio impossibly closer to himself. Clio laughs to herself lightly as she attempts to wiggle her way out of his grasp without waking him after leaving a lingering kiss to his bare chest. She somehow succeeds in her escape despite his tight grip but as she goes to push herself off the bed, she hears a groan from behind her. “Angel? Where’d you go?” Cato says, his morning voice making Clio turn her head to watch him, to see his arm searching for you blindly.
She laces her fingers with his and when she does so, he lets out a sigh in his still half asleep state and eyes still wrenched shut. “I’m right here.”
He pulls at her arm with their connected hands and whines, “Come back, I need the warmth.”
“I just sat up.” Clio laughs, but allows him to sleepily pull her down again anyway. Just today, she tells herself. It sometimes amazes her just how much strength he can still exert, even when half asleep, and this is one of those times because with one swift tug on her hand, he brings her back into his chest and disconnects their fingers so that he can wrap his arms around her. He nuzzles his face into her shoulder and playfully, eyes still shut, bites at the skin where the t-shirt she stole from him has slipped in the night. Clio lets out another giggle in response and so he pulls back and slowly opens his eyes to meet her. There’s still sleep in the corners of his eyes and the sleepy smile that he gives her is proof enough that he’s still not fully awake as he lazily traces her face with his finger.
“Morning.”
“Good morning,” Clio smiles as she leans up toward his face. She hovers close to his mouth, teasing him for a moment before swerving down to press a kiss to his jawline. “Happy birthday.”
Cato grumbles something unintelligible, his voice still deep and gravelly with the tinge of morning. Then he shuffles down the pillow until his face is level with Clio’s, no longer resting his head on his pillow, and leans forward so that his lips are ghosting over hers, icy blue eyes now boring into her light hazel. “Thank you, angel. Do I get my birthday kiss now?”
“Maybe...” Clio teases him.
“Hey!” He complains, and the raspiness in his objection ignites something in her but she schools her expression and returns his stare with one equally as powerful. “You’re really going to deny me my birthday kiss? My one right today and you’re taking it away?”
“I haven’t decided yet.”
“Well, decide!”
“I’m thinking about it…”
“I’ve decided for you,” Cato says before leaning forward the final inch to connect their lips and holding her hand again in his larger one. “There.” He gloats before he kisses her again, not caring about anything as he does so. “You can’t leave me now.”
She lets out a playful scoff and rolls her eyes at his incessant need to touch her, which earns her a pinch to her side that she manages to laugh through. “I was only going to start making breakfast before everyone gets here.”
“Well excuse me for wanting birthday cuddles.”
“Am I allowed to start breakfast now?”
He pretends to be lost in thought for a moment before he shakes his head and rolls Clio onto her back in one swift motion, hovering above her on his elbows. He looks at her, gaze flitting from her body to her eyes, to her lips and back to her eyes again before he kisses her for a third time. “Can we spend all day here?”
“Usually, I’d say yes, but unfortunately you’re pretty popular so everyone wants to come and wish you a happy birthday before this evening’s dinner.” Clio smiles up at him.
“Don’t remind me about that dinner, I’m still annoyed it’s on my birthday.” Cato replies, his face turning into a childish pout as he flops himself dramatically back onto his side of the bed and leans his head against Clio’s shoulder. “How long until they get here? I just want to spend today with you. Preferably you’d be naked.”
“You’re such a man.” She swats his shoulder playfully and swings her legs over the end of the bed so that she’s standing up. She makes her way down to the kitchen, and begins to prepare the breakfast spread for the number of people attending for his birthday – even if it is only Brutus, Enobaria and his family. She starts by removing the ingredients that she measured out the night before, having made a whole menu with different breakfast options.
Cato’s mother is the first to arrive, letting herself into his house about twenty minutes before his father and sister appear and join her around the kitchen island. They chat idly as his mother helps Clio prepare the food; a selection of pancakes, waffles, french toast and pastries like pain au chocolats, croissants and muffins. They’re chopping fruits into halves and slices; bananas, raspberries, strawberries, and blueberries; and then cooking products like bacon and sausages and hash browns, just in case. Enobaria and Brutus let themselves in as well as a few minutes later, arriving with cinnamon rolls for Clio and a large pot of greek yoghurt for the fruit. The five adults arrange the foods around the island, getting the whipped cream from the fridge and syrups – chocolate and maple – out of the top cupboard, and then they call for Cato to come downstairs.
“Do I have to put clothes on?”
“Yes!’ Clio shouts back. “Your mum and sister are here, they don’t want to see that!”
His family laugh together at her words and at the sound of Cato walking around upstairs, clearly trying to find suitable clothes. A few moments later, he comes downstairs and joins them at the kitchen island, and immediately helps himself to the food.
“Cato.” His mum scolds him, but it’s in jest, playful as its tone isn’t harsh.
“What?” He asks his mother through a mouthful of crispy bacon that he stole straight from the pan on the side. “It’s my birthday.”
“It might well be but that’s no excuse to be rude.”
“I’m not being rude.” He objects, watching as everyone serves themselves a selection of different foods.
There’s a will in conversation as they all dig in to their breakfast, helping themselves to many helping before Cato’s dad raises his glass of orange juice into the air for a toast. He’s cast a few questioning glances but he continues. “Happy birthday, son. Nineteen. You’re getting old now, aren’t you?”
Cato scoffs, “I’m not old, dad. You’re in your forties. And Brutus is even older.”
“You’re not too old for a slap.” Brutus teases lightly before laughing and lifting his glass. “Happy birthday, Cato.”
“Thank you. Shame the victory tour has to be today.”
“It’s a good day for it.” Enobaria says. “In District Two on the second of the second.”
“It might bring you all good luck. The number two is lucky.” Aeliana says after she takes a sip of her own juice.
“We’re going to need it.” Clio mutters before apologising once she notices that everyone is looking her way. “Sorry. Happy birthday. Congratulations on officially being too old to be reaped.”
“Thanks, babe, way to call me old. Again.”
“I’m just saying. Not that you could ever volunteer again if you wanted to.” Clio points her fork at him. She then tilts her head to one side to face Cato’s mother. “Did you plan having your children perfectly apart so that one ages out and the other becomes eligible?”
“I didn’t.” Cato’s mother chuckles to herself. “But it worked out nicely, even if Cato’s a victor now and hasn’t really aged out, per se.”
“Do you think the other districts celebrate nineteen?” Aeliana questions.
Enobaria is the one to answer with a nod. “I think they do. It’s their first birthday after twelve that they’re guaranteed.”
“Isn’t that what you said to me last year?” Clio questions her mentor.
“Is anyone guaranteed a birthday?” Cato’s father throws the question out into the void, making everyone laugh.
──────────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────────────
At five-fifty in the evening, the eleven District Two victors are herded through the Justice Building onto the stage attached at the front by the mayor. Peacekeepers are stationed at each and every set of stairs that lead up to the platform, and the central population of the district who have made their way to fill the square tonight are restricted behind rope stanchions. It’s absolutely freezing – the temperature having dropped between zero since the sun has started to set half an hour earlier – and the outfit that the stylists have chosen for Clio isn’t helping her retain her body heat. A black, leather snakeskin mini skirt; a black, long-sleeved turtleneck top and a bright red, double breasted trench coat with large elegant lapels that travels down to her mid-thigh, paired with sheer tights and matching, black block-heeled boots.
As Clio stands on the stage, she looks ahead, directly into the eyeline of the moving image of her sister. Her forest green eyes are boring into hers and she can’t look away from the sight, the very eyes that she buried, the very eyes that she misses being able to see daily. Her baby sister, immortalised in the very clothes that she was buried in and once again on show for the entirety of Panem. The very idea of the Games is beginning to grate on her. No one ever tells you what to expect once you win. The constant appearances, the need to look your best at all times, the inability to react accordingly – having to give washed down reactions to appease the people of the Capitol, so as not to put them off you and disgrace yourself, or worse, fade into irrelevance. She knows that she’s going to be expected to sit there patiently and watch the reason that Clove is dead preach her innocence and her love, but she can’t stand it. She can’t stand that the lack of any family on that podium across the crowd only further proves the belief held by the outer districts; that the tributes of Districts One and Two are unloveable monsters. She won’t allow it. Herself maybe, but Clove? Absolutely not. Clove is was the best of the Kentwells.
They’re introduced by the mayor as he steps on stage and one by one they take their seats in a row at the back of the stage, with the oldest victor on the left all the way until you reach the most recent victor – Clio – on the right. He continues to say a few words about the purpose of the victory tour, and reminds the crowd of the rules of the Games, and that they are to behave accordingly. That the Capitol is watching; which is enough to silence them into immediate submission. That even though mandatory viewing was removed after the politely labelled ‘incident’ in District Eleven, the behaviour of District Two’s citizens is highly regulated by the close relationship with the Capitol, and the threat of retaliation is enough to scare them. The mayor speaks again, “I’d like for you to give a warm welcome to the victors of the seventy-fourth Hunger Games. From District Twelve, Katniss Everdeen and Peeta Mellark.”
The couple hold hands tightly as the double doors of the Justice Building are pushed open, and they step onto the stage to meet the sound of deathly silence. Peeta is in a dark blue trench coat that is all the rage in the Capitol, whilst Katniss has been styled in a deep blue dress that looks to be made from velvet and is studded with diamonds around the collar and cuffs. The only noise is their footsteps across the hollow stage as they approach the microphone.
Two young children, one girl aged about ten in a thick white winter coat and a flower crown of snowdrops and poinsettias braided delicately into her mousy brown hair; and a boy of about eleven dressed in identical winter furs and a similarly constructed headpiece, step onto the stage behind them. They hold small bouquets of flowers, the winter flowers matching that of their headpieces tied together with white binding ribbon, and offer them to Katniss and Peeta with their small gloved hands. Both victors bend slightly at the knees, accepting the bouquets in the hands holding their cue cards and thanking the children before adjusting their cards back into their vision and walking closer to the microphone.
“Good evening.” Peeta says as he takes a step closer. His face contorts slightly, taken aback by being able to see his breath this early in the evening, but he manages to catch himself quickly. “Thank you for welcoming us into your district. We appreciate you all being here with us today in such cold weather and we are honoured to be here with you, and to be with the families of your fallen tributes.”
There’s continued silence as Peeta makes direct contact with the giant, moving graphics of the fallen tributes on the other side of the stage but then Katniss opposes his actions. She pointedly avoids the faces of the fallen as she continues the pair’s speech. “We are united as Panem is united. Our love has opened our eyes to the greatness of this country by illuminating our truth. Our blind actions were influenced by the delirium of our passion; but however, it is thanks to our everlasting love that we can now see the perfection of our ultimate reality. It is this incredibly overwhelmingly sized love that allows us to rejoice in our fate and we are so fortunate to be able to share with you.”
Delirium of passion? Everlasting, overwhelming sized love? Clio thinks as a small scoff passes her lips in anger. Her brows are furrowed in her rage as she stares daggers at the rear of the pair’s heads with her knowledge of their sham of a relationship. The way they cling to each other’s hands is forced and fabricated because their fingers aren’t interlocked and their palms aren’t pressed against one another’s despite the visible tightness of the grip. They don’t seem comfortable with each other, and then someone brave in the crowd shouts out. “Frauds!”
Clio smiles and the one word from a member of the crowd is enough for her to reconsider reaching for the hidden throwing star in the pocket of her trench coat. As much as she would enjoy killing them, the discomfort that this is going to bring the newest victors is something she is going to relish in. Cato knows it too, recognises the way that her smile grows and he grabs her hand in his.
“Should’ve won properly!” Someone else shouts.
“Yeah! One after the other!” Another hollers.
At least District Two is still on our side, Clio thinks to herself as she notices the comparison in the citizen’s statements. The feature film is working, at least in Two. She doesn’t recognise the voices, nor any of the faces in the first few rows of the crowd and she knows the jeers came from someone random, someone unrelated to any of the victors, and she can only hope that pleases President Snow. Then, a fourth individual asks – dares – the pair on stage to prove it. They look incredibly uneasy as someone clearly speaks into their ear, in a hidden earpiece, and they step closer to each other before kissing each other. In the fakest display that Clio has ever seen, and the boos that reverberate throughout the square indicate that the rest of the District Two shares her sentiment. Cato squeezes her hand, and she smiles widely at him and mouths, “fucking fraudulent cunts, the both of them.”
The blonde man lets out a loud chuckle, conveniently timed as the pair break apart from their seconds-long kiss, which is heard from the victors’ vantage point. Peeta turns his head in his direction and Cato juts his head forward when they lock eyes, just threatening enough to the baker from Twelve, who startles with a little jump, but not too dramatic that it draws the attention of Katniss, or the rest of the district.
To his credit, Peeta recovers as fast as he did earlier before the heckling and he angles the microphone towards them to make their voices just that little bit louder. “We also would like to share with you the sorrows of your losses. The tributes of District Two were great and noble warriors who I had the privilege of spending time alongside at the beginning of my journey. They brought honour to their families and pride to their people.”
“Oh fuck no.” Clio mumbles at the younger boy’s words. The privilege of spending time alongside them? Bullshit, they kept you alive.
But it’s when Katniss looks up at the moving graphics again, the slight scowl of Ajax and Clove’s ever-present smirk, and then adjusts her gaze to the families beneath, that Clio has a problem. The girl on fire pauses, as if she’s forgotten that she has cards to read from and is trying to formulate the correct string of words, and stares at the empty space beneath Clove’s poster in confusion. Everyone knows that Clove has family, has Clio at least, given how vocal they were during the Games, and Katniss is taken aback by the fact that Clio has remained seated at the back of the stage considering how obvious she has made her disdain of the latest female victor. She refuses to let her believe that.
As quickly and quietly as possible, Clio stands from her chair, ripping her hand from Cato’s to prevent him from stopping her and pulling her back to her seat. A few of the small children in the front row notice her movement but they don’t alert anyone for their guardians and the others around them are far too preoccupied with glaring at the couple to care for what the tiny members of society are mumbling to each other. There’s some mummering in the crowd and a Peacekeeper adjusts his positioning at the stairs, but Clio signals for him to stand down and simply descends the staircase, using all the stealth she gained with her lack of height to remain undetected by the victors. She walks around the side of the crowd, on the outside border of the roped areas, while Katniss still stares blankly ahead, frozen slightly. The crowd begin to become a little restless with the lack of speech, apology, anything, and Clio uses it to her advantage when they start to push and shove at the sides of the people next to them in order to get to the front of the area. She continues her journey around the square, and as Cato searches for her from his seat, he can’t see her, her height blending her perfectly until she reaches the podium of the family of the fallen and hoists herself up. It’s not elegant nor is it graceful but she’s left with no choice after they’d taken away the only available route up to the platform. She’s up there and Katniss is the first to notice.
Surprise spreads across Katniss’ features as she spots the victor who was behind her moments ago now standing on the platform opposite, glaring at her maliciously. As the girl from Twelve looks ahead, she notices the similarities within the sisters. Their eyes, though differing shades, hold the same mischievous glint, sparkling under the floodlights even when tinged with matching hatred for the girl ahead. Clio’s hair has been braided at her hairline, an almost identical look to the moving graphic above her, right down to the dark chestnut shade. She blinks twice and if Clio didn’t know any better, she’d think that the girl on fire was trying to wipe memories from her brain before Katniss averts her focus and meets the eyes of Ajax’s two younger siblings before she lifts her gaze to that of his parents. “I expect that you are exceptionally proud of him. I can only give my deepest condolences for the numerous hours that he suffered but he fought valiantly until the very end and I did what I could as soon as feasible.”
As soon as feasible? Clio thinks, letting out a scoff again, one that thankfully goes unheard. Ajax’s mother clearly agrees with Clio’s assessment of the situation because tears are welling in her eyes as she hears the victor recount the details of her son’s death. As they stream down her face, the boy’s brothers have faces of stone as they stare directly ahead, meeting Katniss’ gaze and refusing to look away, refusing to cower as they honour their big brother.
The District Twelve woman then turns back to the crowd ahead of her. “We are all united, both victors and vanquished, in serving a common purpose: the power and glory of the Capitol. Panem today, Panem tomorrow, Panem forever.”
With an uncomfortable smile, both Peeta and Katniss allow the peacekeepers to start moving them inside the Justice Building. There are murmurs in the crowd as they begin to disperse, believing the appearance to be over. Absolutely not. She spoke directly to Ajax’s parents yet I got shunned. No fucking way. “Is that it?” She shouts as loud as she can.
Katniss and Peeta freeze. Clio watches as they both turn on their heels slowly and the peacekeepers take a few steps backwards, forcing the two victors to follow. The couple on stage look to each other, desperately clinging to one another as they make eye contact with their predecessor. She can see Enobaria facepalming between the newest female victor, whilst Cato and Brutus look as if they both want to jump out of their seats, - either to kill the ‘couple’ on stage or reach her - and it causes a smirk to cross Clio’s face when they both finally make eye contact with her.
“I know you can veer off the cards, Katniss. Where’s my heartwarming little speech, huh? No? Do I not get the pleasure of hearing how much you wanted my sister dead the second you met her or are you going to continue to lie to my face in public?”
They look at each other once more before looking around at the crowd. It’s evident that they expect a Peacekeeper to intervene but they remain in position, turning a blind eye to Clio’s behaviour – metaphorically, of course, they stay perfectly still, chins tilted up and backs straight.
“I’m sorry.” Katniss frets, directly into the microphone. “I didn’t mean to cause offence.”
The district starts to boo and jeer as Peeta follows the mayor’s instructions and leads the woman offstage, back through the double doors. The District Two mentors are directed immediately behind them, while Clio is escorted from the podium and through the already dispersing crowd until she joins them in the Justice Building.
As she enters, Cato and Enobaria are the only two waiting for her; the others have already made their way to the dining room where tonight’s victory dinner is being held. Enobaria is beside her seconds after the doors shut behind her. “What were you thinking?”
“I wasn’t.” Clio says simply.
Enobaria lowers her volume to a whisper. “He’s going to see that, and I’m not sure he’ll like it.”
Clio knows that she’s talking about President Snow. They all know that. “He asked us to distract the nation from them, and I did exactly that by calling her out on her bullshit. I’m doing my job by making her look bad at home. ”
“He's never going to show it.”
“I think that was the point.” Cato offers, appearing behind Enobaria to stand beside his girlfriend. He looks her up and down as if checking for injuries and then grabs her left hand in his right as he faces the older woman. “It was live, someone will have seen it. But this way he can’t use Clove as a pawn anymore.”
Enobaria hisses through the slits in her fanged teeth as she warns Cato to keep his voice down. With a nod of her head in the direction of the dining room, she says, “C’mon, let’s get this dinner over with. I’m craving birthday cake.”
“Why do we even have to go to this thing anyway?” Cato questions, rolling his eyes as he follows Enobaria down the hallway.
“Because it’s tradition and the mayor has personally asked you to come.” Enobaria answers. “You’re the latest victors, you’re not allowed to miss it.”
“I’d much rather go home.” Clio says, being almost dragged along by her boyfriend after a particularly stern look from her older mentor. She can’t think of anything worse than sitting for an hours-long dinner with the woman she just shouted out in front of the entire district. This dinner is the last straw on the unstable hay bale that is Clio’s sanity – though lots of people would say that left a long time ago.
“Me too. I don’t want to spend my birthday with them.” Cato complains but is quickly silenced by Enobaria’s look as they reach the door which holds the dining room, hearing the low sound of chatter inside already. Xanthe opens the door and scurries the older victor inside and wraps her in a quick hug, with Enobaria chuckling at her enthusiasm as she directs her to one of the empty seats at the table – the one next to the man who won a few years before her. Cato drops his voice to a whisper as he leans towards Clio’s ear, “I dunno what possessed you up there but whatever it was, was hot. I’d rather take you home and–”
“Cato!” Xanthe exclaims frustratedly, not having heard the words themselves but recognising the tone as something she’s seen several times before, something that isn’t appropriate for the event they’re attending.
“It’s my birthday!” He protests. “Let me say what I want!”
“We have guests!” The escort says, grabbing at their wrists as she drags them inside and guides them to their chairs – Clio beside Enobaria and Cato between her and Brutus, who has sat himself next to Haymitch at the end of the long mahogany table. “Come right in and get settled. The Avoxes will get you a drink and dinner should be served in a jiff!” Xanthe continues as she beams at her latest victors before turning on her heels and finding her own seat at the far end of the table.
“White, please.” Clio tells the Avoxes as they approach with two bottles of wine, one red and one white in either hand.
Effie Trinket looks puzzled in her chair beside Peeta at the end, almost diagonal. Her voice is shrill as she speaks across the table to Xanthe, who is separated from her by the chairs of five victors. “Is she old enough for a wine?”
“Almost eighteen.” The District Two escort responds proudly.
“Is that–”
“I’m a victor, who cares how old I am.” Clio cuts her off in a hiss. “If I can win the Hunger Games then I can have a glass of wine at dinner. And I am not drinking red.”
The awkward silence is palpable before Lyme initiates conversation with Effie beside her and then the other six victors to her right chat amongst themselves, including Enobaria after a few seconds when the darker skinned woman realises that Clio isn’t going to be speaking much tonight, that her jibe toward the Trinket woman is probably the most they’ll be getting out of her now. Brutus uncomfortably speaks to Haymitch, involving Peeta and then Katniss once she realises that her ‘boyfriend’ is content with conversing, though it doesn’t do much to help the uncomfortable feeling permeating the end of the table as Haymitch shifts a little in his seat and continually reaches for his drink.
Soon, the Avoxes hired from the Capitol flit around the room serving drinks to the victors, and the mayor’s assistants bring out the meal to the sounds of Xanthe’s excitement. “Let’s eat before the food gets cold!”
“Thank you for this wonderful meal.” Effie enthuses, clasping her hands together as she looks down at the meal placed in front of her. “And thank you for your hospitality tonight, I–we really appreciate you all coming out.”
“Not like we had a choice.” One of the older victors at the far end of the table mutters under his breath and Clio can hardly contain her smirk at the way Xanthe desperately tries to shush him with a pointed glare.
The conversation is kept relatively brief as they help themselves to the food. The chefs have cooked a prime roast for them all, – a strange choice for a Thursday evening, but one that showcases the money and effort that District Two can afford to expend on this event – with seasoned vegetables, roast potatoes and fresh herbs, and extra sides are split between the plates arranged in the middle of the table. At one moment, Enobaria feels the eyes of Katniss and Peeta both, watching how she shreds and chews the meat of the bird carefully between her teeth and neither of them bother to avert their eyes when she catches them red-handed. She goes to say something but Haymitch jumps in instead to protect his latest victors. “I appreciate you agreeing to be here tonight.” He says directly to Enobaria.
“You’re welcome.” The woman responds. “But if your guests don’t stop staring at my teeth then I’ll give them a demonstration on just how well they work.”
Clio snorts and leans closer to Cato to murmur, “Anything to indulge his crush on Enobaria.”
“Clio!” Enobaria hisses.
“What?” She laughs. “You can’t tell me you didn’t know.”
“So much sexual tension.” Cato adds, but not quiet enough and Haymitch hears.
“The woman’s an icon.” His words are slightly slurred after the amount of alcohol he’s had over the course of the dinner – and probably the past twenty-four years of his life. No one can really tell if he’s being serious or sarcastic, but Enobaria rolls her eyes in a half sense of fondness that no one catches.
“I know.” Clio says. “I grew up with her as my mentor.”
Enobaria actually laughs.
“What do you mean mentor?” Katniss asks her first question across the table. The dining room falls silent as each of the District Two victors try to work out the best, the easiest way to answer her question.
Seriously? Clio thinks. She knows what the word means, I’m sure she can’t be that stupid.
“Mentor.” Brutus repeats.
“Someone who provides help and advice over a period of time.” Lyme clarifies. “In Clio’s case, Enobaria helped her with the usual Games related things. When Clio was in the Games, Enobaria was her Haymitch.”
Katniss looks between Lyme and Brutus, then to Enobaria and then to Haymitch, who has a smirk on his face. “You’re hiding something.” She addresses her mentor.
Haymitch grins. “I’m not hiding anything, sweetheart.”
“Then why did your hand twitch?” That’s a tell.”
“Sweetheart, I’m a drunk, my hand does that.” He says, not wanting to talk about whatever it is in front of the eleven person District Two audience.
The oldest victor speaks up, placing his knife and fork on the middle of his china plate and signalling for an assistant to start clearing the table. “Can I request you speak of this later?” He questions. “I don’t care for your indiscretions, Haymitch.”
“And here I thought that after knowing you all for years, we could be civil.” The victor from Twelve jokes.
“We may know each other, but I’m prepared to kick you out of my district.” The oldest man at the table reaffirms. Everything about him is threatening, from his tone, to his gaze, to the way he sits in his chair, and it’s something he’s comfortable with.
His district? Clio questions herself, hating the way that the man claimed authority over the entire district and thinks that he can make decisions for the rest of them; despite the fact that she wouldn’t be opposed to removing them from the Justice Building early and sending them packing. The quicker they get rid of them, the quicker they’re District One’s problem.
“Look, Atticus, I wouldn’t say I like you, but you’re at most tolerable. But the little one over there?” Haymitch glances down the table and points at Clio, watching her stare at the tiny chips in her plate that she made whilst stabbing her fork violently into it whenever she picked up a piece of food; glaring venomously at Katniss as she does so. “She could turn on you just like that.”
Clio’s brow furrows in confusion as to why she’s being brought up again. Sure, she humiliated Katniss on live television and threatened her the day after she came out of the Games, but she hasn’t done anything this past hour. She hasn’t even spoken to anyone other than Cato and Enobaria.
Lyme holds her hand out ahead of her to keep the peace, almost hitting one of the assistants collecting the plates in the face as she does so but no one laughs. “Enough. Let’s move the conversation elsewhere.”
The table falls silent again as those involved in the disagreement concede to the authority in Lyme’s words. It continues as the assistants begin to bring the platters of desserts into the room; pavlova, cheesecake, panna cotta, tiramisu, cinnamon rolls and a large, chocolate fudge cake divided into sixteen perfect slices – one housing a thin candle. The older woman opposite Clio leans forward as she serves herself and breaks the silence by addressing the newest male victor. “So Peeta, you bake?”
Peeta chuckles. “I do, yes.”
“What sort of things do you bake?” The woman probes further before pushing a slice of cheesecake into her mouth.
“Um.. anything really. I work in my parent’s bakery so it’s whatever the customers want.” Peeta answers her, confused but also seemingly excited to be discussing the bakery, even if it’s a topic that has probably already been broached in the other nine districts they’ve visited prior to this. “Bread, mainly, but I decorate cakes, and make things like brownies and scones.”
“Oh lovely, I wonder if you could help me perfect a recipe? I’ve been trying one out recently but I can’t quite get it to work.” She says before most of the table zone out as the oldest woman at the table, who won her Games early in the third decade, begins to ramble about the different baked goods she’s been trying recently.
“Who’s the candle for?” Brutus stifles a laugh as he asks.
Cato grabs the slice of cake with the single, unlit candle with the platinum cake server and places it on his plate. “Me, duh.”
The older victor shakes his head and says, sarcastically. “No, it must be for Katniss and Peeta to share since they’re the newest victors.” He tilts his head to one side as he pretends to be in deep thought. “There’s nothing else important happening today, is there?”
“I don’t think so.” Enobaria muses.
“Hey!” Cato objects. He leans back in the chair and stretches his right arm behind him and slaps the skin on the back of Brutus’ head. “You know what today is, tic tac!”
“Watch it, I’m kidding, I’m kidding.” Brutus chuckles, raising his hand in surrender before he acts out a karate chop in the arm in front of the younger man. Cato doesn’t flinch but a few moments later, Brutus looks past him and says, “Hey, what’s Clio doing?”
Cato turns his head to look at his girlfriend, and when he does so, Brutus whacks the back of his head in the exact same manner of action that was done to him minutes earlier. The blonde man lets out a noise of indignation as he objects. “You can’t do that today, it’s my birthday!”
Enobaria sighs, “I never would’ve guessed, you’ve only mentioned it about fifty times already.”
“Why did you look at me, you nosy fucker.” Clio says as he realises he checked up on her, shielding her cinnamon roll from his eyeline as if he’s going to steal it from her.
“Well, excuse me for caring about you.”
“I’m eating a cinnamon roll.” Clio deadpans. “I’m literally more than fine, this is the best part of my day.”
“You could’ve been choking.”
“I’m not. You’d know.”
A smirk spreads across Cato’s face as he takes in her words. “You can be tonight if–”
Enobaria’s groan cuts him off. “Don’t you dare finish that sentence. And Clio, wipe that smirk off your face.”
They both reluctantly do as asked – not that they’re scared of Enobaria or anything, they’re well past those days – while Katniss looks between her co-victor and Haymitch before looking at a flushing red Effie with confusion. Haymitch then glances between his two victors. “What Enobaria saved you from there, was a sex joke.”
Clio scoots her chair closer to her boyfriend’s, still guarding her cinnamon roll from any prying ideas as she eats it slowly. She whispers, “Oh my god, they haven’t fucked. They’ve been together as victors for six months and they’ve still not fucked.”
“Of course they haven’t, they’re not actually together.” Cato replies in his best attempt at a whisper. An attempt, which as usual, isn’t the best and the whole table hears his words; the half from District Twelve throwing a scowl his way.
“I know that, but surely they can’t be–” Clio’s giggles interrupt her own words. “I don’t blame him, she has the personality of a rock.”
“They should get along then. You know– the fairytale of a girl with the personality of a rock and the boy who can turn himself into one.”
Tears build in their eyes as peals of laughter leave their lips, joined by some of the older victors at the end of the table, amused by their comments for once. Brutus lets them giggle for a few minutes before noticing an uncomfortable look on Haymitch’s face, and a displeased look from both escorts, and shutting them up. He reaches forward and grabs the lighter on the silver platter filled with cake so that he can light the candle on Cato’s slice that will finally allow him to eat the dessert. “Both of you, be quiet.”
Enobaria, having leaned forwards, notices the excited grin spreading across Cato’s face. “We’re not singing to you.”
“Aw c’mon, just this once. Please.” He begs.
Lyme and the men at the end of the table shake their heads simultaneously. “No, none of us can sing.”
“Is it your birthday?” Effie Trinket asks gleefully.
Xanthe frets, moving her hands back and forth. “Oh my god, I don’t know how I forgot. I’ll sing to you if you like.”
Cato laughs. “No, thank you. I like my ears working how they are.”
“Happy Birthday, Cato.” Peeta manages to say over the commotion at the table as everyone continues to eat various desserts.
“Thanks, man.” The birthday boy answers before blowing out the singular candle to applause and immediately begins to tuck in to the slice of cake.
──────────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────────────
An hour later, the victory tour in Two has concluded, and the dinner is over. Haymitch has helped Effie in leading Katniss and Peeta back to the train to sleep off the heavy meal before they make the few hour journey to District One in the morning. The older victors straggle behind Brutus and Enobaria, who remain a few metres behind Clio and Cato as they all walk together back to their respective houses in Victor’s Village.
Clio swings her left arm like a child, her fingers interlaced with Cato’s right; having to squeeze each bit of fun out of their lives when they find it, and being seated on his left all evening haven’t thrown her off a little bit. On his left she can’t use her dominant hand to grab his, and so now that she has the chance to, she does. The cake that she ordered from the main bakery in the principal city is waiting on his kitchen island, Clio having asked his mum to collect it once the Victory Tour has finished, and she can’t wait for him to see it. A giant, six-tiered chocolate-orange cake, decorated with different types of chocolate including malted milk spheroids and wafers and dripping with a deep pattern.
She knows that Brutus and Enobaria will be joining them, especially after Enobaria mentioned that she’s craving birthday cake prior to the meal. She knows that they have the official Victor’s Banquet to attend in the Capitol on Sunday, and that they’ll have to face the newest victors there again, along with everyone else that they tolerate; Luna, Finnick, Johanna, Cashmere, Gloss, Beetee and Wiress. She knows that she’ll have to spend time with them in the upcoming Games, given that it’s the Quarter Quell – the perfect time to make life a living hell for the residents of District Twelve. That if her predictions are correct, they’ll likely have much younger children to exploit, or even adults, and with the recently aged out trainees from the Academy, it’ll be easier than ever to torment the Girl on Fire and her loverboy. But right now, she couldn’t care less about them. All she wants is to help her boyfriend enjoy the last few hours of his birthday. And about planning how she can get her revenge, for this latest Games only provided false fates.
The game of revenge is now on.