73rd - part 1
johanna's pov
“Enjoying the show?”
The melodic voice of Finnick Odair snaps my gaze away from the screen. I’m sitting at a bar trying to take the edge off of life with man’s greatest treasure. That’s nothing new. But seeing as I usually go off the grid as soon as possible once my own tributes are dead, I really should’ve expected someone to come and question my sudden presence at the mentor viewing party. I glance up and down at him, noticing the disheveled look of his hair and clothes that says he’s recently been having his own form of adult fun.
“As always,” I reply.
“I didn’t expect to see you out here,” he says with a cool smirk, taking the seat beside me. Great. I had plans to dart upstairs as soon as this shit was over. “But I guess the finale is as good a time to tune in as any.” He summons a glass of something from a nearby Capitol attendant and takes a long swig.
“I just wanna see if she kills him or not,” I grunt.
Finnick looks at me dramatically with an expression of mock horror and gasps, clutching a hand to his chest. “You think she’d kill the love of her life?”
“He was dead from the beginning. Never had a chance without her. Why should she be the one to die?”
“What about the revision ?”
I look at Finnick pointedly as he smirks.
“Well, don’t let the fans hear you say shit like that. Matter of fact,” he leans forward and nods in the direction of a table in the far corner of the room, “don’t let Haymitch hear you either.”
Haymitch is sitting with the escort from 12 and the stylists, leaning over the table and staring intently at the screen. He looks focused and shockingly sober, not wanting to miss a single moment. I catch the eye of the escort by mistake and throw my head forward threateningly as she balks and looks away.
“He can’t seriously believe they’re both getting out?” I mutter to Finnick as I turn back to the screen. The two tributes from District 12 are running through the forest as a group of freakish dogs chase after them. The camera zooms in and I notice the eyes of one of my tributes plastered on the mutt’s face, gazing hungrily at the prey in front of it. They’ve made the dead into killing machines.
“Fuck,” I manage to splutter as I pick up my drink.
“That’s…wow…,” says Finnick. He watches the mutts with a horrified expression for a second before regaining his composure and smiling at me again. “Anyways, yes, he does. I have to hand it to him, it was a brilliant idea, even if it doesn’t work out.”
“But it was never going to work out. So how brilliant is it really?” I counter, glaring at the blonde man as he shrugs back at me.
“He got both his kids to the top three. That’s gotta be a new record for 12 or something. Plus, they could go home.”
“You and I both know that’s bullshit.”
He groans and pushes my shoulder. “Come on, Mason. Believe! Believe in the young love!”
“You know damn well she doesn’t give a fuck about him,” I say louder than I meant to, but no one looks at me. They’re all too interested in the scene on the screen; the girl has just pulled herself onto the top of the cornucopia, away from the mutts that are tearing after her and the boy. Meanwhile, the boy from 2 is climbing up and I hear his mentors clapping each other on the back at a nearby table, cheering as he rolls onto his side and gasps for air. He doesn’t look good, so I don’t know why they’re so excited.
The girl’s loading up an arrow now, aiming it at the boy from 2. I hear District 2’s table go instantly silent as the whole room holds its breath, even Finnick. But just as she’s about to let it fly, the girl spins around and starts shooting the mutts, defending the boy from 12.
It hits me that I really don’t know what I’m doing here. Why am I watching this? Why do I give a shit what happens? This girl is clearly an idiot, seeing as she just sacrificed her chance to win the games, and over what? Fear? Morals? I don’t know why I’m watching this shit.
Another round of noise erupts from 2’s table as their boy finally stands up, leaps at the other tributes, and grabs the boy from 12 in a headlock, holding his body as a shield as the girl raises her bow.
“Kill him!”
“Get him, Cato!”
“What are you waiting for?”
You’d think they’d be a bit more respectful, considering the tortured look on Haymitch’s face as he jumps to his feet and starts to pace, his eyes glued to the screen. I have half a mind to say something to the assholes myself, but it’s really not my fight. Besides, I don’t wanna miss how this ends. The girl is stepping forward now.
“Shoot me and he goes down with me,” the boy from 2 says with a cold laugh.
This is the moment. She could shoot him and win, if she has the guts, but everyone in the country would hate her. She could risk waiting and the boy still might die. The mutts are still trying to make their way up the cornucopia, so she has to make a decision quickly. I feel myself leaning in slightly, hanging onto the side of the bar as I watch.
It happens in a flash: the girl shoots the hand of the boy from 2 and the boy from 12 manages to free himself in the brief moment of weakness, pushing off against the boy from 2 and sending him off the side of the cornucopia. He lands with a thud, his own shriek of pain mingling with the complaints behind me.
“Goddamn,” exclaims Finnick, running a hand through his golden locks with a stiff chuckle.
Haymitch whoops and pumps a fist in the air, then embraces the escort, who’s sobbing. I can’t tell if she’s happy or what, but the female stylist is clearly happy since she’s grinning from ear to ear and clapping eagerly. The male stylist looks stonelike aside from a small smirk. Sitting still in his chair, he toasts the screen and downs the last of his drink.
“Attention, attention tributes,” the voice of Claudius Templesmith booms suddenly, silencing the room. “There has been a slight rule change. The previous revision allowing for two victors from the same district has been…revoked. Only one victor will be crowned.”
“Ah, shit. Guess you were right.”
I look over Finnick’s shoulder at District 12’s table, where no one seems quite sure how to react. The cheering has stopped, and now they’re all gazing at the screen with looks of concern and determination. Leaning forward in his chair, the male stylist looks anxious as he ignores the nervous chatter between the female stylist and the escort. Haymitch, meanwhile, goes back to pacing. I can’t imagine what he must be feeling, having to watch his tributes battle it out at the very end like this.
In staring at District 12’s team, I must have completely missed the boy telling the girl to shoot him, but I catch his voice saying that the Capitol has to have a victor. The girl steps toward him and I can feel everyone holding their breath around me.
“No,” she argues. “They don’t.” Her hand fumbles for something in her pocket and finally withdraws the nightlock berries, holding them out between the two tributes. Her hand is barely shaking, which surprises me.
The boy hesitantly takes a portion of the berries and holds them toward his face. “On 3?”
Nodding, the girl begins to count. Are they actually going through with this? I start to laugh as the girl counts, but again, no one looks at me. “1…2…3.”
“STOP! Ladies and gentlemen,” declares Claudius Templesmith hastily as the berries fall from the tributes’ hands, “the victors of the 73rd Hunger Games…Katniss Everdeen and Peeta Mellark, District 12!”
Cheers erupt again as the bar comes back to life. The camera zooms in on the victors as they step into each other's arms, and as the hovercraft descends, Katniss Everdeen clings to Peeta Mellark and nearly knocks him over as he gingerly holds his injured leg out at an odd angle.
“So, Jo,” Finnick sighs, stretching himself against the bar, “You coming to the afterparty?”
“This was enough fun for me,” I grunt with a wave around the room. Some of the District 2 team is crying now too as they file out onto the street, heading to the mansion to stuff themselves to the brim several times and wake up in a stranger’s bed. No thanks.
Finnick shrugs at me. “Suit yourself,” he says in a singsongy voice, turning away and joining the crowd. I watch him walk away until I can’t see him anymore, then someone yells and points at the screen.
Peeta Mellark has collapsed.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see the tide of people reverse as everyone clambers back into the bar. Haymitch rushes in, catches sight of the screen, and rushes back out, yelling that he’ll find out what happened.
He’s not getting up. Katniss Everdeen clings to his body, shaking him as she repeats his name, but it’s no use. Around me, everyone’s speculating in hushed voices, wondering if he might’ve accidentally eaten the berries. Though I doubt it, I guess that would explain the collapse.
The screen goes black, then cuts to Claudius and Caesar.
Looking distraught, Caesar clears his throat, leans forward, and gazes into the camera. “We’ve just gotten word from our Gamemakers that, unfortunately, Peeta Mellark has passed away.”
The reaction of the audience around me drowns out Caesar’s voice for a moment, until someone angrily shushes them.
“---complication resulting from his leg injury, which had healed externally from the medicine provided during the Feast. Apparently, Peeta had suffered extensive internal injuries that could only be healed using advanced Capitol technology. Had he been able to reach the hovercraft in time, he may have been spared…but regardless, this is a tragic loss for our nation.”
“So tragic,” I mutter as I slip out the side door.
I head for my room in the tribute center. They’ll let me stay here until Katniss Everdeen is crowned, but then I have to find a way home. No one will give a shit about me until next year. So it goes.
In the shower, I try not to think about Katniss Everdeen from District 12. I try not to think of the life she’ll have now, how without Peeta, Snow will try to subject her to the same fate that he threatened me with. How she won’t be able to refuse, not if she already was willing to volunteer for the Games to save her sister.
I scrub the shampoo out of my hair and try not to think about how she clung to his body, how that moment will never leave her. Haymitch really believed they’d both make it out of the arena and Katniss seemed to believe it too, and I really try not to think about my own tributes. Seeing their eyes in those mutts is a moment that won’t leave me for a while. I try not to think about it.
I try not to think about anything, but the nightmares still come. They always do. They always will.