--» 𝔡𝔞𝔫𝔡𝔢𝔩𝔦𝔬𝔫𝔰 «--

Chapter Fourteen

I blackout, but not long enough to miss Katniss driving a knife into the table between Haymitch's fingers.

"That is mahogany!" Effie squeals angrily, scowling at Katniss.

Haymitch glares at Katniss but doesn't move an inch. I rise from the floor, my face throbbing in the spot where Haymitch's knuckles had met it. Katniss looks at me empathetically; but then back to Haymitch, awaiting his response.

"Well, what's this?" he says awkwardly. "Did I actually get a pair of fighters this year?" I scoop a handful of ice from a fruit bowl and hold it gently to my face, first wincing at the pain but then sighing of relief. It cools my face, reducing the swelling bit by bit, but Haymitch reaches for my hand. I avoid his gesture, considering the earlier events.

"No," he says, pulling my hand from my face slowly. "Let the bruise show. The audience will think you've mixed it up with another tribute before you've even made it to the arena."

"That's against the rules," I say, suddenly nervous of our drunk mentor's strategies.

"Only if they catch you. That bruise will say that you fought, you weren't caught, even better," Haymitch replies. I nod my head in agreement, although I hate his plan. I'm not one to fight for sport, but I can use all the help I can get.

"Can you hit anything with that knife besides a table?" he asks Katniss, shifting in his chair to face her. I've never seen her use a knife like that before, but I'm not shocked. She's got a very likely chance at being a victor with her skills in weaponry. She removes the knife from the table and sends it directly towards the wall. It wedges itself directly between two panels of wood, and a wave of goosebumps coats my arms. She's intimidating. I have to admit.

"Stand over here. Both of you," Haymitch says bluntly, nodding his head to the center of the room. We obey him, walking stiffly to the middle of the car. He surveys us, looking at our muscular yet bony limbs.

"Well, you're not entirely hopeless," he says after what seems like an eternity of him observing us like animals at a zoo. "Seem fit. And once the stylists get hold of you, you'll be attractive enough." We stand there in silence, knowing the best way to get sponsors isn't your skill; it's your beauty.

"All right, I'll make a deal with you. You don't interfere with my drinking, and I'll stay sober enough to help you," says Haymitch. "But you have to do exactly what I say." I stand there a moment, considering his offer. Although it may not be much, and there's still no promise he'll uphold his end of the deal, it's ten times better than the drunk mentor we'd had just minutes ago.

"Fine," I say.

"So help us," Katniss says immediately. "When we get to the arena, what's the best strategy at the Cornucopia for someone — "

"One thing at a time." Haymitch interrupts, rubbing his temples. "In a few minutes, we'll be pulling into the station. You'll be put in the hands of your stylists. You're not going to like what they do to you. But no matter what it is, don't resist,"

"But —" Katniss starts but is once again cut short by Haymitch.

"No buts. Don't resist," Haymitch grabs a bottle off of the table and leaves the room. As the door latches behind him, Katniss and I are engulfed in the darkness that floods the car.