The Capitol's Tribute

The Capitol was all in a twitter that morning. Everyone had woken early—before ten—and went out for casual tea to gossip about the Games that would start at noon. Every Capitol citizen was dressed in their most flamboyant and fabulous outfit, specifically purchased for this day, the biggest day of the year; the first day of the Games.

Haymitch had gone out, sitting by himself on a stone table, surrounded by ecstatic bodies, screaming adamantly about today. He watched on in disgust as a little boy, no more than ten, opened a long, colorfully wrapped box. The child screeched in delight as he pulled out a long, play sword. The blonde boy proceeded to wave it around dramatically and pretend to stab his sister with it.

Silently, Haymitch wished that the boy would have his name Reaped next year; that he would have to go into the arena and try to use that sword for real, to know that the Games weren’t a joke. They were very real to the Districts and their loved ones being forced to go into them. They were all too real for Haymitch who still had vivid nightmares of his time almost twenty-five years earlier. He would never forget the terror he felt, and the heinous things he had witnessed. And for that reason, he wished the boy would go to the Games to learn how far from fun they were. He wanted the boy’s parents to weep when his body was sent back to them in pieces in a plain grey box with his name and Capitol address written on it.

His hatred for the Capitol was only intensified on this day. There was nothing fun and enjoyable about the Games. Haymitch despised the Capitol and Snow with every fiber in his being, especially when he had to send people like the Harts into the arena, unsure whether either would come out the victor.

It was tough to tell whether Haymitch truly wanted Rixa to come out alive. Katniss and Peeta were having a hard enough time surviving Snow’s wrath. He didn’t need another rogue victor on his hands (which would surely be what he would get if Rixa survived without her brother). Last year was a fluke. Never again would two victors be crowned, especially with the great show Rixa and Brant could potentially put on if they were the last two standing.

Plus, there was the engagement he had forced Finnick and Rixa into. There was a certain amount of guilt that nipped at his conscious when he thought about it. The upside of Rixa dying would be not having to see Peeta’s depressed face when Rixa and Finnick wed. But, honestly, that was the only upside to Rixa’s potential demise. Haymitch wasn’t sure that Peeta would be able to survive knowing that Rixa was murdered in the arena because he and Katniss had rebelled last year. He was positive that was the reason the Harts had been Reaped. The odds were just too in the Capitol’s favor to have been done by unlucky coincidence. Haymitch smelt corruption—but everything about their world was corrupt so it didn’t take a genius to figure that out.

There was a slight breeze in the air, wafting around the nostril-burning amount of rancid perfume and aftershave. Haymitch had spent the last hour chatting up Capitol citizens for sponsors. They were pouring in for Rixa. Everyone wanted a piece of the Capitol’s Tribute. Besides Malum and the careers, Rixa had skyrocketed to become a favorite overnight.

Brant, however, was another story. He was getting the average amount of sponsors that a good score could get you. He seemed likable enough on screen but most of his sponsors were coming from the fact that people wanted a showdown between the Hart siblings. That was Brant’s only reason for surviving. Haymitch didn’t pray much, but he did in hopes that Rixa and Brant wouldn’t end up having to face-off in the penultimate battle. He prayed that someone took one out before it came to that.

It was time to head back to the apartment. Peeta was probably an inconsolable mess. Haymitch didn’t want to deal with it, but he felt for the boy. Once upon a time he had been in love and she had been murdered by the Capitol. For that reason, he had a soft spot for the idiot baker’s boy. He understood his pain.

Haymitch stood up, making his way through the crowd, ignoring the Capitol citizens around him. He’d done enough mingling today to last him a lifetime. But, next year, he would come back and have to do the whole thing over again. Hell—tomorrow he’d probably be back racking up the sponsors for Rixa if she made it through the day.

Thoughts of Rixa and Brant swirled around his mind and Haymitch made his way back to the Training Center. They reminded him of Peeta and Katniss last year who were too much like brother and sister for anyone with actual brains to think they were dating. They were strong willed, caring, selfless individuals. Most of all, they were the last people who deserved to be entered into the Games, to die.

Before Haymitch knew it, he was standing in the elevator, heading up to the top floor. He mentally prepared himself for what he was about to walk into. Would Peeta be a mess? Would Katniss be there for him? Would Rixa and Brant survive the bloodbath?

Haymitch didn’t know. He just didn’t know.

After the short elevator ride, Haymitch stepped through the door to the penultimate floor. Katniss was up, sitting at the table and munching on some breakfast meat. Effie was absent, probably still wracking up the sponsors Haymitch ignored. There was no sign of Peeta either.

“Where’s lover boy?” Haymitch quipped, slouching his body into one of the seats surrounding the long table.

“Fast asleep.” Katniss swallowed, “Figured you’d want to be here when he woke up and things got bad.”

“Aren’t you sweet.” Haymitch muttered, slurping on his personal can of spirits.

“It’s one of my prized characteristics.” Katniss replied, finishing up her breakfast just as footsteps echoed down the hall.

Peeta was up.

“Hey there, lover boy.” Haymitch traveled to the plush couch, turning on the large television. It was almost time for the Games. Pre-Games announcements were going on like they had been for the past few weeks, getting everyone geared up for the exciting days (or weeks—depending on the tributes) ahead. Caesar Flickerman’s friendly and familiar face shone brightly over the re-caps of previous Games, his powerful voice retold the marvelous events in great and jubilant detail.

Peeta scanned the living area before staring up at the television. He knew immediately Rixa was already gone. She was already in her holding room. He had slept in and the Games were about to begin. Peeta felt violently nauseas.

“She’s gone?” He croaked. Katniss sent him a sympathetic glance.

“I’m sorry, Peeta.” She said, “She had to go.”

Peeta blinked, his blue eyes shone but he refused to show any emotion, “Why didn’t she say goodbye?”

“Rixa thought it would be best.” Haymitch butt in from the couch. Peeta jerked his head over to this ex-mentor.

He shook his head angrily, flaring his nostrils. “She didn’t have the right to decide that for me. Odds are we’ll never see each other again.”

“Peeta—” Katniss started.

“That’s the spirit.” Haymitch stretched his arms behind his head, “Give up on the girl because she didn’t kiss you goodbye.”

“Now the moment you’ve all been patiently waiting for!” Flickerman’s excited voice flew through the speakers. All three of the Victors watched the screen with nervous eyes. Peeta’s heart started to pick up with erratic beating. “My good friend, and our newest Gamemaker, Plutarch Heavensbee, is ready to let the Games begin. Take it away!”

The feed cut to the Games, to the Cornucopia, to the tributes. The tubes were still rising. The tributes were blinking, using their shaky hands to stop the light from burning their eyes. Peeta quickly walked into the living room to get a better view. He could just pick out Rixa’s white-blonde hair in the bunch.

Katniss took a seat next to Haymitch, looking up at Peeta’s alert face. “She’ll be okay, Peeta. She can fend for herself.”

Peeta simply swallowed, staying standing. He couldn’t sit at a moment like this.

Heavensbee’s voice rang through the room and Peeta stiffened, “ Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to the Seventy-Fourth Annual Hunger Games,” Katniss sniffed, tucking her legs into her chest, “May the odds be ever in your favor!.”

“Sixty, fifty-nine, fifty-eight, fifty-seven—”

Peeta’s eyes found Malum and counted the tributes he was away from Rixa.

Seven.

That was a safe distance. If Rixa ran away as soon as the buzzer went off, she would get a good head start and Malum would have to regroup if he wanted to find her.

Once Peeta’s gaze found Rixa, he couldn’t turn away. Even when the view panned to the other tributes, like his former best friend Brant, he kept his eyes glued, waiting until she graced Panem with her angelic face. Peeta couldn’t believe how much he took her beauty and strength for granted. He took everything about Rixa for granted, and he would have given his good leg and more to get her out of the Games.

“—twenty-five, twenty-four, twenty-three—” an explosion went off, forcing Peeta to tear his eyes away from Rixa’s graceful appearance under pressure.

“And it looks like we have our first casualty, Caesar.” Randolpho Fiennes, Caesar Flickerman’s co-anchor for the Games chuckled heartily. The flamboyant man popped up on the screen as the little girl blew up again and again before Peeta’s eyes.

“Yes, we do,” Caesar agreed (though having the tact not to laugh at an innocent child’s cruel fate), “Before the Games have even started. That’s always a sign that it’s going to be a bloody one!”

In the background, Heavensbee’s voice ticked off the time. Peeta bounced on the balls of his feet, unable to stand still. He crossed his thick arms, grimacing at the television screen. Rixa’s face popped up again, as pale and perfect as ever. But, this time, there was something more. Something determined and desperate. He watched her blue eyes flicker about; he couldn’t see who she was looking at but he understood what she was about to do.

“Oh, God,” Peeta croaked out.

“She’s going to run.” Haymitch said stonily. Katniss sat up straighter, watching with wide eyes. She wanted to scream at Rixa through the screen, but it would have been too hypocritical. She had run straight into the Cornucopia and hadn’t had any responsibilities in the Games, no one to look out for, no one she grew up with.

“She’s going to save her brother, or die trying.” Katniss murmured.

“She’s going to get herself killed!” Peeta spat at the huntress, like she had talked Rixa into the inane idea.

“—eight, seven, six—”

“Rixa, please,” Peeta whispered frantically under his breath.

“—four, three—” Haymitch watched as Rixa’s hand flew to her own Mocking-jay pin. He frowned, not knowing she had her own rebellion symbol—the same one Katniss had flaunted last year. A slight sense of panic flooded through him. He silently willed Rixa to take it off.

Time seemed to stand still. Adrenaline soared through Katniss, flashing back to this moment exactly one year ago when it had been her inside the arena.

“—one—” The buzzer went off and all three Victors watched helplessly as Rixa ran head first into the bloodbath.