Filed To Story: Sunrise on the Reaping Book PDF Free
Even with the interruption of the second palate cleanser, a terrifying review of the deadliest mutts in Games history, the Newcomers keep building our case, and before you know it, District 12 is up.
As admirable as the Newcomers may be, I think we’ve begun to wear on Caesar. Selflessness and quiet resolve don’t really make for rollicking entertainment. So, after a quick confirmation of our Newcomer commitment, he’s more than ready to go with District 12’s sauce.
Caesar eggs on Maysilee, who garners a lot of laughs when she machine-guns the midsection of the front row for their poor taste. To a man dressed in a suit made of hundred-dollar bills, she says, “That’s sweet. You wore all your friends tonight.” To a lady with surgically implanted cat ears. “And is that purse for your flea powder?”
Wyatt spouts off complicated odds that a Gamemaker with a calculator confirms. When he correctly figures the amount of sponsor dollars it would take to send a tribute a stuffed pheasant two weeks into the Games, given rising inflation of thirty-eight percent a day, he genuinely blows Caesar away. “I wasn’t so hot in arithmetic either!” he exclaims. “I don’t know if the odds are in your favor in the arena, Wyatt, but if you win, you and me are heading to the casino!”
Lou Lou’s a sensation, wielding her snake, baring her teeth at the audience. As usual, she states her name and district, but then resorts to hissing at Caesar when he asks a question. When the audience snickers, she crouches down and holds out the snake, causing some people to jokingly recoil, and the bolder ones to stroke its sinewy body. She’s winning them over, until, for the first time this evening, perhaps inspired by her ferocity, Caesar asks, “Now, Louella, what will the Newcomers do if they kill off all the Careers? What will happen with you kids then?”
As if on cue, the snake hisses in a woman’s jewel-studded face and Lou Lou growls, “You’ll murder us. You’ll murder us.”
If the sight of this strange little girl wrapped in a snake amused them, her attack on the Capitol does not. Gasps and sounds of disapproval rise from the audience, but she persists.
“You’ll murder us! You’ll murder us!” Her pitch gets higher and higher and the effect is chilling. “You’ll murder us!”
The facade of fun vanishes. She begins to crawl along the edge of the stage, singling out front-row ticket holders and shouting, “You! . . . You! . . . You! . . . You! . . .”
Even Caesar’s famous cool is blown as he dances after her, trying to recapture the magic. “Okay, Louella . . . Louella! It’s unfortunate, but the Games can only have one winner. Louella! She’s certainly determined! A little help here, please!”
Mid-accusation, Lou Lou falls silent. Her eyes roll upward and she collapses to the floorboards.
“She’s fainted from exertion, and not a moment too soon!” exclaims Caesar. I’m certain the Gamemakers had a hand in it, probably drugging her through her pump. They let Wyatt return to carry her offstage as Caesar immediately segues into introducing me. “And now our final tribute of the evening, Haymitch Abernathy from District Twelve!”
I take my time crossing the stage, because I don’t think a guy with cocktail glasses on his vest would hurry. Caesar, in recovery mode, jumps right in. “So, Haymitch, what do you think of the Games having one hundred percent more competitors than usual?”
This is the first time they will hear me speak, and I want to make a lasting impression. But suddenly I’m not thinking of Great-Uncle Silius – I’m thinking of Woodbine Chance, who should have been standing here in my place. He was always walking a line of trouble, but people liked him. Especially the girls. Too young to be considered a real danger yet, but certainly a rascal.
I give a shrug and let a little of that Chance attitude slip in. “I don’t see that it makes much difference. They’ll still be one hundred percent as stupid as usual, so I figure the odds will be roughly the same.”
An appreciative chuckle runs through the audience.
I give them half a smile. “I’m speaking of the Careers, of course.”
“Well, it isn’t common knowledge, but I heard you’ve had some run-ins with one of the Careers. Panache maybe?” Caesar asks.
I come back with, “Heard you did, too.” Caesar laughs along with the audience. “Yeah, I’m not on good terms with any of the Careers. But the Newcomers are plenty smart and one hundred percent safe with me.”
“Well, judging by your Gamemakers’ score, everybody’s safe with you,” observes Caesar, drawing an ooh from the audience. “I hear you got a one in training?”
“Not so easy!” I tell him. “I consider that one a badge of honor. I mean, I’ve got thirty-one sworn allies, this rock-hard body, and a brain five times smarter than any Career’s. Know what else I’ve got? Guts. Because clearly . . . I’m not afraid to piss off the Gamemakers!”
I open my arms to the audience and pace along the front of the stage while they hoot in support. “Shoot, a ten? A ten? Anybody can get a ten! You have to be a special kind of trouble to get a one, am I right?” Cheers of affirmation. “I can tell some of you know just what I mean.” I point out a man in the second row who wears a glass cube of live bees on his head. “This gentleman right here, for instance.” He nods vigorously. “And you, darling?” I lean over the lady with the cat ears. She covers her face in gleeful embarrassment. “Sure, you been there.”
“So let’s make a list of everyone you’ve pissed off,” says Caesar. “There’s Panache . . . and the other Careers . . . and the Game-makers. That’s just in the few days you’ve been in the Capitol. Anybody back home?”
“Well, there’s the Peacekeepers.” The audience quiets a bit. “They can get out of sorts if I don’t deliver their white liquor on time.” Shocked laughter.
“‘Their white liquor?’ Just exactly what do you do after school, Haymitch?”
I’m careful to keep this as removed from Hattie’s still as I can. “Well, let’s just call it my science homework. Turns out, I can make hooch out of just about anything, Caesar. District Twelve can’t brag about much, but we’ve got the finest shine in Panem. And I’m pretty sure the base commander will back me up on that!”
“But . . . isn’t that illegal?”
“Is it? For real?” I turn to a moustachioed man holding an oversized brandy snifter. “You’d think the commander might’ve mentioned that.”
The bell rings and Caesar gives me a slap on the back. “This one’s a real rascal, ladies and gentlemen! Haymitch Abernathy from District Twelve! May the odds be EVER in his favor!”
Half the audience gets to their feet to applaud me off. I wink at the lady with the cat ears, much to her delight, and exit the stage. I’m pretty sure Drusilla planted the label rascal in Caesar’s head, but even so, I feel I’ve earned it.
Backstage, Mags and Wiress await me. Mags gives me a hug, Wiress a quick nod, saying only, “You’ve got some sponsors.”
I can hear Caesar wrapping things up for the evening as we rejoin the rest of the team and hurry down the halls to our exit. I think we must be headed back to the apartment, but when we reach our van, Plutarch’s waiting.
He addresses Drusilla. “Great job! You know, these kids never got a proper photo shoot. What say we swing by my place and get some high-quality pictures, maybe even a little footage? Be nice to have for cameos if they hang in there. And it might seem like you and I weren’t doing our jobs without it.”
Drusilla considers this. “Just so long as Magno Stift is never mentioned.”
“Magno who?” says Plutarch, and Drusilla flounces off to her private car.
Under her breath, Effie says, “Some marriages should never have happened.”
“Drusilla and Magno were married?” I ask in disbelief.
New Book: Returned To Make Them Pay
On her wedding anniversary, Alicia is drugged and stumbles into the wrong room—straight into the arms of the powerful Caden Ward, a man rumored never to touch women. Their night of passion shocks even him, especially when he discovers she’s still a virgin after two years of marriage to Joshua Yates.