Daze // -Katelyn oneshot- Part 2 of a series
Jan 20, 2019 2:53:51 GMT -5
Post by charade on Jan 20, 2019 2:53:51 GMT -5
KATELYN PERSIMMON
*The following post is set during the year of the 76th hunger games.*
Read part one here: Click me
Katelyn awoke with a start.
Her mind felt sharp; or sharper than it had felt for a long time. There was a metallic taste in her mouth; not blood, but whatever it was didn’t taste right and made it feel like her mouth was full of cotton.
The detention center.
She sat up, working out a crick in her neck and looked around. She wasn't in her cell. It was a larger room. There was a screen set into one wall. Windows. A table, chairs. She realized she was sitting on an actual bed with pillows and a blanket. There was a man sitting in an armchair directly across from the table. Then she looked down and realized that she was wearing pajamas of a sort. Katelyn cringed and held her arms to her chest. She’d been wearing a prison jumpsuit last she remembered, so who the fuck had dressed her in this?
Had he? He was wearing a peacekeeper uniform she noted.
“Good to see you finally awake Katie.”
She recoiled in disgust.
“Don’t call me that. Who are you? Where am I? What is this?” she demanded. Her head felt so clear, for the first time in, for the first time in...
“I’m Harold. And this is something different. It's taken time, but we believe you. You’re not a member of the underground.” He said it slowly, a smile creeping over his face. He was clean shaven. Dark hair. Green eyes. Chin like the poster boy for the peacekeeper recruitment ads.
She hated him immediately.
“But even if we’ve established that you aren’t with them, there’s still the question of what’s to be done with you now.”
“Send me home! People will have noticed!” she said, standing up from the bed.
The man; Harold, she reminded herself, only shrugged.
“Victors tend to be an eccentric bunch. Those close to you may wonder at your absence, but the country at large will write it off as yet another victor keeping to themselves. But when you do get back into the public eye…” He stood from the chair and began to pace around the room. Katelyn’s eyes darted back and forth, looking for something she could use as a weapon if she needed to, but other than the pillows, there was nothing she could grab.
“We want to reinvent your image. Imagine this. You moved from district eleven’s victor village to a penthouse apartment in the capitol. You’ve spent the entirety of your absence living it up at shin digs all around town. Schmoozing with anyone who’s anyone. We can doctor photos. Have people give fake interviews about Persimmon the party girl. Even have someone pose as a significant other. Really sell it to the public.”
Harold smiled wide, showing off perfectly straight, white teeth, his eyes trailing down her body.
“You can’t imagine how surprised I was to learn that you, a victor in their twenties is still a virgin.”
Katelyn felt her face redden, though if it was more from anger or embarrassment she couldn’t tell. The pajamas she was wearing felt like they weren't there. Ignore him, she told herself. He's just trying to get under your skin.
“A little off-topic I know, but it’s still surprising given that the majority of your fellow victors have spent some time in each other’s bedrooms.” He laughed and smiled that too perfect smile again.
Katelyn had had enough.
“What’s the point of this?!” she snapped. “What do you people want from me now?!”
That easy-going mask he had on slipped for a moment. His eyes grew hard.
“We want you to stop looking so fucking defiant every time you’re on camera.”
But the moment passed, and he was back to smiling.
“Be a good little girl and praise the capitol every once in a while. Remind the citizens of district eleven of their place before something…happens to them.”
That got her attention.
"What do you mean?" She replied carefully.
“Our analysts predict that if a rebellion were to start, that is, a repeat of what led to The Hunger Games in the first place, it’s very likely that your district would lead the charge. Over a seventy percent chance in fact. The only other district that even comes close is…” he chuckled. “Well. You don’t need to know everything.” He leaned on the edge of the table.
“What you do need to know is that the games are meant to be both stick and carrot,” he continued as he paced around the room. “The tributes from your district die, it’s a reminder that we impose order on the chaos of Panem. That you live because we allow it, and die when we demand it. Quite the effective stick, wouldn’t you say?”
Katelyn nodded, wondering just how much Harold enjoyed the sound of his own voice.
“But then, to the victor goes the spoils. A reminder that if you play by the rules; our rules. Everything will be fine. It keeps the masses distracted, hoping and praying that this year will be the year they get the carrot. Food for the hungry. Medicine for the sick. Just pull the cart like a good pet and you get a treat.”
He stopped and examined his fingernails.
“Then of course, there’s what you did. Mentoring two tributes to the victory in consecutive years after you won. No one had ever done it before. And it’s a feat that God willing, will never be repeated.”
“And I have a feeling you’re going to tell me why.” Katelyn muttered. The pacing resumed and Katelyn wanted to force him to sit down.
“You changed the dynamic.” He went on, ignoring her. “Had the audacity to keep pushing. Carrot after carrot. You got people to be so contented that when the stick finally came back, some of them decided, oh no, we’ll not have that. We’ll not roll the dice on which we’re going to get. You’re going to give us the carrot or we won’t pull the cart anymore. Then before you know it, the stick ceases to be a threat because they’ve realized we need them to pull the cart.”
He sighed.
“We can’t have that.” For a moment he seemed almost genuinely upset. Harold turned his head toward her as he walked.
“I’m not going to beat around the bush anymore, we’ve already spent months doing that. The short answer is that as the main source of agriculture in Panem, Eleven is too important of a district for us to risk losing control of. We will not have another district thirteen situation on our hands.” He stopped pacing then, and smiled a smiled that made the room grow colder.
But it was his next words formed an icy hand around her heart.
“It might interest you to know that a familiar face is in the games this year.” Harold flicked on the screen to show Caesar Flickerman discussing tribute scores.
“If I…”
“If you had been a perfect doll of a bachelorette, and danced on your strings for the president yes, we would have kept certain names out of the reaping for oh, a year or two. But we had nothing to do with this, no, you see, the quell twist called entirely volunteers.
He—
No, her— the boys would never allow this. They couldn’t. If a Rhodes or a miristioma volunteered they’d have a conniption. It would fly in the face of everything that she, that Harbinger and Kirito had sacrificed. No way—
Still, the face was onscreen with a number as Flickerman spouted callbacks to his family members.
Tamron.
Awkward, lovable, adorkable Tamron.
You absolute dumbass.
“You could go to them. I could let you go. All I need to hear is the right answer.” He paused, grinning like the cat that swallowed the canary.
“Are you ready to cooperate? “
"No!” she spat venomously.
Yes, she thought in agony.
They were her family. More of a family to her than her own had ever been. They needed her. She needed them. But she knew if she said yes, she’d lose everything, including her soul. The man grimaced, curling his lips like he’d just tasted something sour.
“There is more than one way for us to break you.” He said with a sneer.
Katelyn laughed, but the sound it made was cold.
“Break me? Every day I break inside, but I’m not broken!” Her voice raised in anger, a flicker of the old fire warming her bones. She wasn’t that weak; she still had some muscle on her, she could –
Harold laughed, low and wickedly.
“Not broken?” he repeated, the corners of his mouth turning up in a grin.
“What if I told you that clip was a year old, that we’re gearing up for the seventy-sixth games now.
“I-w-what?” she fumbled, trying and failing to keep panic out of her voice.
“Tamron’s been dead for months. You have no idea how much time you’ve actually lost.” He shrugged. “You know, I told them this sort of tactic wouldn’t work if the drugs didn’t.”
Katelyn’s hands balled into fists and she started to raise them—
Her shoulders sagged as her knees felt suddenly weak. She sat down on the edge of the bed and stared at the floor.
Two years? They’d had her drugged and imprisoned for two years? And Tam—
No, she wouldn’t let him see her tears, he wasn’t going to get the satisfaction.
Hold it together.
“I don’t think we’ll be drugging you from now on. A little clarity might do you some good. Enjoy the room. Consider it a…carrot."
The smirk on his face was burning her alive.
"Sleep tight, Katie."
The lock on the door clicked shut and only then did Katelyn allow herself to cry.
table coding (c) ghosty
