21Chapter 1: First Meeting
Ah well… I guess it's time to face the music, I think as I look at my reflection in the mirror. I'll go meet the newest "lambs to the slaughter". I guess, no – I know, I can't avoid them forever. I've led forty-six children to their deaths, what's two more? I lean my forehead up against its reflection. Oh, God… I'm not nearly buzzed enough for this shit. Again. If I act really drunk, maybe they'll just leave me be. One can only hope.
I walk into the car and see them sitting side-by-side in those ridiculously uncomfortable, low-backed blue chairs. Both of them immediately turn their terrified yet eager eyes to me. Of course, they do. The boy even grabs the end of the armrests and propels himself to the edge of his seat. Ooohh, edge of his seat, this must be so exciting for him! I stop when I get even with them, smile, or rather smirk, at them with as much insincerity as I can muster and say simply, "Congratulations," as if they've won some great prize, and gosh darn it, I'm so proud of them for it. I think the boy's mouth drops open a little at this. She, however, narrows her eyes. I think just maybe she gets me.
I walk beyond them to the bar cart, and I notice out of the corner of my eye that both of their heads swivel like a pair of synchronized oscillating fans, watching every move I make. It's then that I am confronted with the dilemma. Do I put my glass down to open the bottle and refill my glass? What to do, what to do? I know they are watching me. So I just pick up the bottle and remove the glass stopper with my mouth and pour the contents into my glass. I replace the stopper when I put the bottle down. OBVIOUSLY, this glass is not leaving my hand. I reach over to remove the lid to the ice bucket… and … what the fuck? I snicker internally in my brain – I know this will totally fuck with their heads… "Where's the ice?" I ask them, as if one of them has made off with it.
And just as I thought, the boy nervously answers, "I don't… I don't know…", as if he thinks I'm accusing him of stealing it... Good, I think. I let out a closed-mouth sigh and slam the lid back down onto the ice bucket. I turn and walk to them and ask "May I?" indicating that I'm asking permission – really? – to sit down and join them. She remains completely impassive, but he lets out a big sigh as he turns to watch me take the seat directly across from him.
"OK," he says, "so when do we start?"
"Oh… Whoa… so eager…. Most of you aren't in," I wave my hand around, "such a hurry." I take a gulp as he starts talking. Again.
"Yeah. I want to know what the plan is. You're our mentor". Oddly the emphasis is on the "OR" of mentor. I decide to play along.
"Mentor?" I say, mispronouncing it as he had.
"Yeah, you're our mentor" again with the emphasis on the wrong syllable. "You're supposed to tell us how to get sponsors, and give us advice." Oh no, he didn't just define the concept of mentor for me, as if I had no clue. The girl is still just looking at me without a hint of emotion on her face. I find her more curious than him. She doesn't seem weak. In fact, quite the opposite. Not that he seems weak; right now, he's just annoying. She, however, is kind of intriguing. Not that I'd let either one of them have a clue about what I'm thinking. However… she's obviously physically a Seam girl, but she seems well-fed and healthy. Where does that stem from? From her apparent poise, I'm pretty sure she's not one of Cray's girls. A few of them have been tributes in the past. Nothing good ever came from that. You can't fuck your way into being a Victor. Although I have seen a few try – both male and female. It was never pretty. So I decide to give him, both of them really, a hard dose of reality.
"Uhmm, embrace the probability of your imminent death. And know, in your heart, that there is nothing I can do to save you." The boy looks crestfallen. The girl just look pissed and asks…
"So why are you here then?" It's the first time I've heard her rather husky voice, and she sounds strong. I think for a minute that I recognize her. If she's who I think she is, she just may be the tribute I've been waiting for all these years.
"Oh, the refreshments…" I respond waving my glass around to make it even more obvious.
"OK, I think that's enough of that…" the boy jumps in trying to grab my drink. I pin him to his chair with my foot without much effort. I think now, maybe, he might see why I am a Victor. "You made me spill my drink… and these are brand-new pants…" Interesting… I just may have some fighters this year. I'll be able to tell in the morning if they haven't appeared to have totally given up yet. "I think I'll go finish this in my room."
I get up to leave, but I want to fuck with them just a little more. I get to the side of the train car, and I act as if I can't remember which way I'm supposed to go. I turn a couple rotations until I seem to remember, then walk off and grab a pastry on the way out. Let them ponder that. I remember too late that I should have picked up the bottle to bring with me, but I don't want to spoil my dramatic exit to go back for it.
I get back to my compartment on the train thinking I've made the suitable impression on my new tributes. I need them to contemplate the events rolling irretrievably their way. They'll either rise to the occasion, or they won't. I plan on letting them think about this over night. I've just laid back on my bed and picked up the remote for the television in my room when I hear a timid rapping on my door. 'Oh for Pete's sake… what now?' I think. If Effie is checking up on me again, I may just commit a capitol crime and kill her. This thought makes me laugh out loud. A Capitol crime…
I get up from the bed with murderous intentions and swing open the door to my compartment. Instead of facing Effie, as I was expecting, I am face to face with the boy – the kid, as he's indelibly etched in my brain. What the fuck? He's supposed to be in contemplation mode. I thought I had played that just right. Apparently not….
"What the hell do you want," I ask.
"What I want is to kick your ass," he says. Bring it on, I think. I'd like to show you a thing or two… But before I can do anything, he grabs the collar of my shirt and throws me back against my bed. Well, this was unexpected…
"I don't care what happens to you… or to me… but you are not going to let her down. DO YOU HEAR ME?" he all but screams into my face. I feign ignorance.
"Her?" I ask.
"Katniss Everdeen. Your female tribute this year, in case you don't recognize the name, you insufferable, alcoholic asshole."
Hmmmm. I'm thinking. I have a fighter on my hands. Unfortunately, he seems intent on saving the girl instead of himself. He continues…
"Everyone in District 12 knows why we never have a victor. It's because we have a lousy excuse for a mentor," he pauses. "Our one and only mentor". Again with the crazy emphasis on the last syllable. I begin to muse why he doesn't mispronounce the word "victor" the same way – "victOR"… Before I can get too far into this train of thought, I find myself with his hands around my throat. My curiosity overrules my natural instinct to put him down. The thing is… I am admittedly an alcoholic, but I guess you could say I'm a highly functional one. It's a defense mechanism. I am often far less drunk than I appear to be. Well, I guess the word "often" might be overstating it. Drunkenness serves my purposes, and no one needs to be any the wiser. Through the veil of alcohol, I observe all. Hmmm… Does that rhyme? Maybe I'm a little drunker than I thought. I decide to play along… if for no other reason than to get him to tell me what his deal is…
"What is your problem? And furthermore, what are you hoping to accomplish here in my private bedroom?" I ask him.
"I want you to be our mentor", he pauses while his mispronounced final syllable sinks in. "I'm strong. There's even a small chance that I could win the games, but that's not going to happen. Katniss is amazing. She has a much more real shot at winning, and I want to make sure that she does. You and I are going to help her do just that."
Well, I wasn't expecting that. I love to be surprised. It happens so infrequently.