“They’d eat it up,” she smiled. And they would. They’d devour the story of it. Because it was the story that mattered to most citizens of the capitol. It was ridiculous. You had to laugh at it. If you didn’t you’d lose your voice from all the screaming, and then you’d turn to other outlets and maybe if you were lucky that would dim the edge.
As uncomfortable as the thought was, maybe it would have been better for the two of them if they had been each other’s type. Or if they’d been able to pretend at it at least. But it was a joke purely because of how out of the realms of possibility it was. They were family. Charlie was here right not exactly because they were family. It was going to make for great entertainment.
Charlie’s face hardened at Lacee’s last question. She shrugged, tucking her legs underneath her on the stupid bed. Did they bother to listen to the tributes on the train? Were they listening for anything potentially rebellious or inciting? Were they gamemakers taking notes even now for the arena?
There’d been a lot of silence and things left unsaid inside amongst the occupents of the victor’s village. She’d been… what all of five when she moved in, young and as innocent as any child from a district could be. But she’d been old enough to notice the differences. Charlie had never noticed her sister as a particularly clean person until Hannah had came back from the games and then one day her sister’s routine weekly indepth wipe down of the house had become standard/ Hannah left no place undusted. Nowhere.
“She wished me good luck. Told me she’d see me after I win.” Her older sister had sounded so sure but she’d held onto Charlie just a little too tight. Her parting hug had hurt with how had she’d held her. Celine had been there too. Loving and trying to not cry, trying to be strong and– well, this was her second time sending a daughter off to die. It was easier focussing on Hannah than on their mother and her– well, if she thought about the way her mother looked at her like she was trying to memorise Charlie’s face then it was over.
Easier to force herself back to Hannah and all the things Hannah had said. Or more so the things she pointedly hadn’t said. Lacee and Charlie had grown up alongside each other. They’d grown up children in a village of killers and winners. Still, they’d had very different homes. The silence in Charlie’s had always had a different note than the silence of Lacee’s.
“There was something about timing being important,” Charlie swallowed hard. Any ghost of humour had long since fled now. A moment. A silent plea. Don’t make me say it out loud. “And then just before we left she said this was making her really nostalgic and the audience is probably going to feel that way too.”
They had been playing this game their entire lives. Pushed into it the way most children were pushed on the swingset. The price of being loved by a Victor. Lacee couldn’t remember the first time she had been a piece in the games; she had seen of course, when watching her parents’ games. Mentions of her in their interviews with Ceasar, her round baby face during the family interviews of the final eight.
They had been handed weapons, coached and tormented by the Victors of the Village. Their lives had always lead to this moment. They had always been in the Gamemakers’ hands, toys for them to move around. There was a reason they had been raised to win.
What made for better viewing than nostalgia? It had been a winning formula last year. Nostalgia and bloodshed, two of the Capitol’s favourite things tied together with a bow. Her brutality had been welcomed; even more so when Hannah came out to say she had grown to see Lacee as a daughter. Brutality and bloodshed, hand in hand- a child with all of the brutality of the adult in her life, but none of the softness.
There would be no soothing words fo reassurance from Lacee. Kind words did not come to her easily, and Charlie would see through any act she tried to put on. This was not the time to be the supportive best friend; it was time to keep Charlie alive- as Hannah had done for her.
“Timing is everything,” Lacee agreed. Charlie was both lucky and unlucky for the resemblence to her sister- so many moments to emulate, so many beats to hit, to improve upon. Dedicants of the elder Collins would flock to the younger, wondering what she would do next. If she would take lessons from her sister’s most iconic moments within the games.
She did not think of the boy; of what choosing Charlie meant for him. It had been the same the previous year. The boy did not matter when it was a matter of life or death. The Hunger Games were a family affair, and she was loyal to family above all else, even her district. “It is hard to tell in the arena, when you’re in the middle of it.” The arena was adrenaline, it was danger, it was wondering if a knife would be placed in your back at any moment. “It’s a good thing you’ll have us.”