75th - part 7
katniss’s pov
I really don’t see the point of doing an interview.
There’s no point in trying to appeal to sponsors, since everyone suspects that Snow won’t allow any outside influence in these Games. I’ve given up on trying to undo any of the damage I’ve done, so that’s out. I guess I could use this as a final chance to speak to the people I left behind in District 12, but honestly, I don’t have anything to say to them. Nothing that I would say on national television, at least.
When Cinna takes me to my dressing room, I’m not sure what to expect. This outfit has to be spectacular, better than anything I’ve worn yet. After all, it’ll be the last thing I ever wear, besides whatever they put me in before the arena. Cinna will definitely want to make a lasting final impression.
But this dress is simple. So simple that it takes me a moment to recognize it: my mother’s dress. The dress I wore when Prim’s name was called at the 73rd Reaping.
“I made a few…alterations,” Cinna murmurs. “You should twirl, but only at the very end.”
I reach out toward the dress, running the fabric of the sleeve through my fingers. It makes me yearn for something. The life I could have had if Prim had never been Reaped. I might have married Gale or fallen in love with Madge. Peeta might have won and mentored Cole, and I’d get to watch Prim grow up, get married, hopefully not have to lose her children. I could have been happy. I could have lived.
I let my prep team pull the dress onto me and begin the lengthy process of doing my makeup. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Haymitch enter the room. He mutters something to Cinna before approaching me.
“These victors are angry,” Haymitch tells me.
I scoff. No shit.
“They’ll say anything to try and stop the Games. I suggest you do the same,” he nods at me with a grim look.
What could I even say? I don’t have any leverage left, especially when it comes to the Districts and Snow. “You know it won’t work,” I sigh, but Haymitch shakes his head.
“Try anyways,” he grunts.
As if that helps at all. He leaves before I can ask him what to say, probably to go give Cole the same instructions. Does Haymitch want us to bash the Capitol? Cry? Promise not to fight?
While my prep team remakes me, I watch the other interviews with Cinna. Cashmere and Gloss give some stupid speech about family, which makes Octavia sob. Beetee, of course, presents a logical argument for why the Games should be canceled. Finnick says a passionate farewell to one of his lovers, and Mags blows a raspberry each time Caesar asks a question.
And then there’s Johanna.
I can tell what’s about to happen from the second that she walks on stage. It’s obvious. The way she stomps up to Caesar, glares around, clenches her jaw, and sneers at the audience. She’s about to lose it. Really lose it. Caesar makes the mistake of acknowledging Johanna’s anger, and it’s over.
“Outrageous!” Flavius chastises once Johanna storms off the stage.
“She never could hold her tongue,” admits Venia.
I’m about to say something I’ll regret when Effie suddenly grips my shoulder and steers me out of the dressing room. Unfortunately, I miss most of Blight’s interview while we walk toward the side stage. Effie coughs quietly, turning my attention to someone else in the narrow corridor with us.
Johanna’s standing there, messing with a broken high heel. Even in the dim lighting, her dress sparkles brightly, contrasting the dark scowl on her face. She has on those crazy eyelashes that make most people look like insects, but surprisingly they don’t look as hideous as usual. In fact, she’s gorgeous, despite the murderous look in her eyes.
“I was expecting a bit more than that,” she scoffs, straightening up to get a better look at my dress, “I mean, where’s the fire?” She takes a step toward me and I feel Effie retreat wordlessly.
“Does your stylist know there’s such a thing as too much glitter?”
Johanna smirks. “Nope. And,” she tugs at her collar, “I think he’s trying to choke me or give me a heat stroke, whichever will kill me faster.” Her eyes flit over my dress again as her smile falters. “I guess he wants to save you the trouble.”
I thought that our conversation before the evaluations would be our last. But it feels like we’re picking right back up where we left off, joking as if none of this matters. Then our eyes meet and Johanna takes another step toward me.
I can see a hundred different scars in her eyes. Wounds from her Games, her years as a mentor, and now this. I betrayed her. I can see it, the belief that I could kill her, and I want to tell her how wrong she is. I want to hold her and feel the warmth of her skin as I promise not to fight her, but to protect her, the way an ally should.
I want to reach out and touch her. I really want to touch her. And it’s like someone finally pulled a blindfold off of my head, because I want Johanna and it’s so obvious to me now.
How did I not realize earlier?
“Katniss—“ Johanna says suddenly, but she’s cut off as a pair of Peacekeepers enter the hallway and try to guide her toward the exit. One turns to me, pushing me toward the stage as I notice my cue, and I lose any chance of talking to Johanna until the Games begin.
Caesar calls my name and I step onto the stage.
My mind is racing, but some other part of me takes over for the first part of the interview while Caesar asks me what I think of the Quarter Quell. It’s not until well into my allotted time that I’m pulled back to reality, reminding me that I’m supposed to be trying to stop the Games somehow.
“So Katniss, I hate to be rude, but I must say I’m a little…underwhelmed by this outfit,” Caesar mutters, grimacing as the crowd agrees. “Can you give us some insight? Why ditch the fire now, at the darkest hour?”
I find Cinna in the front row of the audience. With the smallest motion, he nods his head.
“This was my mother’s dress,” I confess. “It’s the one I wore—“
Caesar gasps. “On the day of the 73rd Reaping! Oh, forgive me for forgetting!”
“Well, I guess that’s why Cinna chose this,” I smile slightly. “But I’m still wearing the flames.” Slowly, I stand and take a step forward. I can feel every eye in the nation trained on me as I begin to spin. I have no idea what Cinna has planned, but I trust him.
Someone screams and I glance up at a nearby screen to see myself engulfed in flames, the plain dress fading away as it becomes a dark costume. I feel the sleeves tighten and stretch down my arms as the flames flicker out, smoldering against the fabric of the new dress.
“It’s…it’s some kind of bird,” Caesar stammers.
“It’s a Mockingjay.”
It’s beautiful. The perfect crafted wings, the flowing dress, even the small train that resembles tail feathers. I am a Mockingjay. I feel power flowing through Cinna’s creation, and then it hits me how he will surely pay for this. But he knew that too, and he made this dress anyway.
I think back to what Gale said to me before, about the miners planning a revolution. He said they were determined. As if it didn’t matter what could happen to them and their families as long as they might have a chance at a better life. I still can’t understand it, but Cinna must. He’s put himself at risk for this and I’m so scared for him that I can hardly breathe.
The interview ends and I force my feet up the stairs to where the rest of the victors are standing. Cole passes by me, but I avoid looking at him. Instead, I glance up to Johanna.
I don’t know what I’m looking for. Some kind of recognition, or encouragement, or assurance that I didn’t just start a civil war. A sign that Johanna understands the gravity of what’s going on. And maybe there’s something wrong with me, but I’m also looking at Johanna for an entirely different reason.
Now that I can recognize what I’m feeling, it’s electrifying. Just looking at Johanna makes me worried that I might sprint across the stage if I’m not careful. Honestly, I thought that I couldn’t feel like this about anyone, especially now, with everything else I’ve been thinking about, but this is something I never could have seen coming. I’m not a dramatic or overly emotional person, but Johanna has made me one. It feels like I have my heart on display for the whole country, like I’m doing something provocative by looking at Johanna.
And if looking at Johanna makes me this crazy, how will I manage to stay sane in the arena with her?