Song for the chapter is "Daisy," by Ashnikko. It is explicit but it's so-ooooo good.

Octavia's POV

Last night wasn't my finest moment. I can't remember the last time I actually cried when a Tribute died. As horrible as it sounds, I'd gotten quite used to it and to be perfectly honest, I prefer it that way. Not getting attached is the only way that you can make it out of this kind of thing with your sanity intact. Perhaps it's the fact that my brother's in these Games or the unusual sight of someone putting on a funeral within the Games themselves, but this time, the grief seems to have gotten to me.

When I think about it, I actually can retrace the last time I cried when a Tribute died, and it was Perseus. The confident and flirtatious boy who was overall just the good sort of happy-go-lucky type person. How he ended up volunteering for the Games, I'll never know. But then again, my brother also volunteered, so I guess even that sort of person can be misguided. 

I end up spending the night on floor 7 with both Finnick and Johanna, none of us really ready to separate because of potential nightmares and a part of some sort of unspoken agreement. I'm the first to wake up, and I tiptoe around the room. I spent the night on the floor next to Finnick, even though I originally shared Johanna's bed with her because she started to kick me in her sleep about halfway through the night.

I'm still in my clothes from the day before, but I don't really care. If I'm seen leaving Johanna's floor dressed the same as I was yesterday, it may even throw people off Finnick and I's scent even more.

I click the elevator button to take me down to the lobby and look down out of the glass elevator to try and get a glimpse of what awaits me. They had started the final eight interviews last night with Marvel's family and parents, but stopped once the action started back up so they could follow the Careers hunting Katniss. By the time Katniss' funeral for Rue was over, it was too late in the night to start back up again. So about anytime now, I should be getting some sort of interview about Cato.

When I make it to the lobby, I get my first glimpse of the television for that morning. Nearly all of the Tributes are asleep, except for Clove, who is on guard at the camp. Brutus will have gone to sleep despite my absence because Cato and Clove are in a pretty good spot. And no more will Cashmere and Gloss have to frequent the Command Centre because both of their Tributes are gone. Because of that fact, I expect the room to be empty.

But instead, one of the few people I don't want to see is still in there. Haymitch. He seems to have fallen asleep at his station, and he looks as bad as I must. But the doors sliding open jolts him awake. I don't want to tell Haymitch, but the words he told me on the opening day, after my conference with Seneca, are finally making sense to me. I finally understand what he means by remember who the real enemy is because the day he told me, I didn't really consider the idea; and instead, I threw it out of my head to focus on my brother.

Even though I need my brother to win these Games, it doesn't mean that I can't sympathize with Haymitch for the loss he'll inevitably feel when his Tributes don't come home. I can do everything I can for my brother, but that doesn't mean I have to like what he has to do.

Haymitch looks back to see who's entering, probably hoping that I'm Chaff, but instead turns back around when he sees it's just me. I walk to my station and sit down, getting my station ready and clearing off some of the clutter that had formed during the stressful hours of yesterday.

I usually don't mind silence, but this time it feels painful. So after a few moments, I finally speak up. "I remembered," is all I can manage to say. I hope he gets the reference I'm making. Anyone listening to the microphones they inevitably have in these rooms will have no idea what I'm talking about.

Haymitch goes still in his seat and slowly turns around to face me. "Did you now?"

I nod. "But we can't help it. We're not in control... of the salad bar. Even when we think we are, we always have to play by someone else's rules. Like she never lets me add tomatoes." That'll throw them off, I think. Judging by how passionately Brutus talks about the healthy food option here, I don't think my words will raise much of a flag. That paired with the fact that Haymitch and I debated whether the roasted pig was worth eating last year or if it looked too creepy to eat. Haymitch won that one.

Haymitch nods, considering what I've said and how to best respond to it without hinting to anyone listening to what we're talking about. "The lunch lady is pretty strict about what we're allowed to put in our salads," he says sarcastically. "But what if there was a way to get a new lunch lady? We might not even have to eat salads anymore." Surprisingly, Haymitch is pretty good at talking in code. His metaphors are very evident to me.

Maybe that's not a good thing, but I know he's talking about Snow and the Games. If we got a new President, he might be open to ending the Games. Except there's no way to get rid of Snow. He's been a presence in the Capitol since the dark days. Maybe if someone like Plutarch took over? I ignore that part of Haymitch's words because I don't think it's possible as much as I want it.

But you don't want that, the annoying voice inside my head tells me. You like what Snow can do for you. He's going to make you a Capitolian. He's going to give you more freedom than anyone else in the world can.

I ignore the first sentiment of Haymitch's words and go straight onto the second. "But people like Brutus like the salad bar." Surprisingly, that statement is doubly true. I don't think that Brutus would be in favour of ending the Games because he's devoted so much of his life to it. A sad but true fact. I can pretend that he thinks the same way as me on this issue, but I know that's simply not the case. And I would never ask him because I'd be afraid of both his answer and him turning me in for some sort of treason.

Haymitch raises his eyebrows and sighs. "You'd be surprised about how many people don't like the salad bar."

I scoff. "But not nearly enough to actually get rid of it."

Haymitch gives me a smirk and shrugs mysteriously. "I wouldn't be so sure about that."

I go to ask Haymitch another question, but I hear a knock at the door followed by a shrill voice. "Octavia, are you in there? I need to get you ready for Cato's final eight interview."

"Well, duty calls," I say, giving Haymitch a mock salute as I head towards the door. This actually may have been the best conversation I've had with Haymitch all year, considering it didn't end with one of us storming off, yelling, or throwing something.

Haymitch's POV

My conversation with the crazy Career lady actually went pretty well. Actually, just judging by the fact she didn't try to stab me with anything means that it went pretty well. I decide to give watching Peeta grimace to death a break and head to the bar. Chaff is there, probably has been since last night, and he drops a few hints that there are apparently uprisings in District 11, not long after they had sent Katniss the bread this morning.

That means that Katniss is in more danger than ever. If people think she's starting an uprising, Snow is going to want her dead faster than Cato can hunt her down. Speaking of that little killing machine, just as promised about an hour ago, little Miss Crazy-Overprotective sister appears on the Caesar Flickerman show.

"Thank you to Clove's family back in District 2 for joining us!" says Caesar. "Now, our next guest needs no introduction. She is joining us from right here in the Capitol. It's not often that we get to interview our families live in the studio, but when we do, it's a treat."

"Such a treat," agrees Claudius. It wouldn't be such a treat if you really got to talk with her, I think. It involves a lot more being angry and a lot less smiling.

Please welcome, one of my personal favourite Victors...Octavia Jones!" The courtyard begins to clap enthusiastically, and I roll my eyes, taking a sip of my drink to occupy my mouth and stop me from cursing out loud. She's a Capitol darling. They love her here. She's got this whole thing figured out to a 'T', blah, blah, blah.

Octavia walks onto the filming stage, and she looks a lot better than she did this morning when I saw her. Whatever makeup they did on her, she didn't look nearly as worn out or tired as before. The smile on her face though, is fake, of course. I've seen it on her a million times when someone makes one of those jokes that she finds both amusing and annoying, which is why I know it so well. They put her in some sort of terrifying gold jumpsuit, one that shows off her biceps just to let everyone know she's every bit as lethal as she was six years ago.

"Hello, Caesar!" She sits down in the chair next to him and crosses one of her legs on top of her knee, and sits up so perfectly that I wouldn't be surprised if someone attached a metal rod to her spine to keep it straight.

"And hello to you, Octavia. I know everyone always has a million questions for you, but let's get down to business and the reason we're here for today...your brother is in the final eight! How are you feeling about his performance so far?"

Octavia quirks an eyebrow. "Well, he's still alive, isn't he?" she jokes.

Everyone, including the people in the courtyard, starts to laugh. "She's good," Chaff whispers to me. I try not to let Chaff see my annoyance at the comment. I already knew that, I want to snap back at him.

Caesar clams down from the freaky little laugh that he does. "Well, someone's a firecracker this morning! Now, I assume you were expecting your brother to make it this far, yes?"

Octavia relaxes into her seat a bit. "Of course, there was never a question in my mind about final eight."

"And what do you think about his odds of winning?"

Octavia smirks. "Well, Caesar, let me put it this way, I'm about as sure about that as I was about the final eight."

Caesar is intrigued. "So you mean to say you think he's going to win?"

Octavia nods. "Being a Victor, it's part of our blood at this point. Between us being the third-generation to participate in the Games, combined with the spirit and devotion the people of 2 put into the Games, there never really was another choice for us. It's the reason we were born."

Sadly, I think that's true.

"And what a fabulous life that's turned out to be," replies Caesar in his softer, more serious voice. I see Chaff next to me, chuckling at the irony of his statement. "What do you think will be the biggest challenge for Cato to win these Games?"

Octavia pauses in consideration for a moment. I fully expect for her to go on some crazed rant about Katniss because of how much she seems to hate me for being her mentor, but instead, she brings up something else. "I think it'll be killing Clove," she says decidedly. I know her reply is honest because it's the look she used to give when she would share her honest, unfiltered thoughts on the Games to me or Johanna Mason. "Her and Cato were practically raised together. He knew her before he knew me--before we figured out we were siblings, that is. So I think if he has to face off against Clove, it will be the hardest for him."

"Ahhhh, so two best-friends in the arena together, and only one an make it out, what a story that is. We only have a bit more time before we let you go, but we certainly don't want to," says Caesar, who reaches out to touch her knee. But something about his words get me thinking. I get an idea about how I can help Katniss not get blasted to smithereens. "So I'll let Claudius take the reins."

"Thank you, Caesar. Now I--" I stand up from the bar so abruptly that I wobble around a bit before catching my balance.

Chaff shouts after me. "Where're you going?"

"To find our little friend the Head Gamemaker. I have an idea for him."

~~~

I sit patiently as I wait for Seneca Crane to walk out of the Control Centre doors so I can bombard him with my idea. Luckily, I don't have to wait long for that because the weird-bearded man practically storms out of the sky-tunnel that connects the Tribute Tower to the Control Centre.

As soon as I see him, I get up and stop him in his tracks. I get right to the point, so he doesn't swerve around me. "Don't kill her. You'll just create a martyr. "

"Well, it seems we've already got one," he replies angrily.

"I hear these rumours out of District 11. This could get away from you," I explain.

Now he's listening. "What do you want?"

"You have a lot of anger out there. I know you know how to handle a mob. You've done it before. If you can't scare them, give them something to root for."

Seneca seems less than impressed by my proposal. He's probably thinking to himself how he has a perfect Victor lined up, one who won't cause any uprisings in Cato and Clove. As much as watching them be the ones to defeat Katniss would be entertaining, I can see that he's probably considering more than just the entertainment value now. "Such as?"

"Young love." Now we're talking.

Third Person POV

"So, you like an underdog," says Snow. He doesn't even bother to turn around to face Seneca, who is standing behind him, attempting to get him on board with his plan.

Everyone likes an underdog," says Seneca enthusiastically.

Snow doesn't let the sentiment hang in the air for very long before throwing it back in Seneca's face. "I don't." This gives Seneca pause for a moment. He doesn't quite seem to know how to respond to that. But Snow does. "Have you been out there? 10? 11? 12?"

"Not personally."

Snow is once again quick to respond. "Well, I have. There are lots of underdogs. Lots of coal too." He begins to wipe off the pollen that's collected on his hands from tending to his garden. "Grow crops, minerals, things we need." Seneca nods solemnly, understanding what the president is hinting is at stake. "There are lots of underdogs." He finally makes an effort to talk to Seneca face-to-face and turns around so that the message is clear. "And I think if you could see them, you would not root for them either." The stare in the president's eyes makes it clear that he's not taking this lightly. "I like you...Be Careful."

Seneca is left for a moment in the gardens with his thoughts and what to do next.

Octavia's POV

I sit at the small table area Finnick, Johanna, and I have secured for ourselves in the courtyard with my feet up on the table. We've been playing a game, for longer than I'd like to admit, where Johanna throws a piece of popcorn and Finnick and I have to try to catch it in our mouths. It's actually quite fun, even though Finnick's made about twenty more catches than I have. I blame it on him being taller.

The day has actually been pretty quiet so far, but to be fair, it's only still lunch. Brutus sent down Cato and Clove some food this morning to help ease them into the loss of their supplies. They've finished with the families' interviews of the final eigh about a half-hour ago, and everyone went crazy over the interview of Katniss's sister. I tried not to watch, but I couldn't help but feel bad for the little girl who's about to lose her older sister. It's a real shame.

Johanna tells me that it's my turn to catch, and I ready myself, and by that, I mean I open my mouth and stick out my tongue, but I don't bother to sit upright or take my hands out from resting behind my head. The popcorn files up in the air, and I'm tracking it, but then I hear something that makes me sit up and turn around to face the large screen playing the Games behind me.

"Attention, Tributes. Attention." A million thoughts race through my mind. They never make announcements mid-game like this. It's too early for the Feast unless they intend to do two Feasts this year. I turn around to look at Finnick and Johanna for information, despite me knowing that there's no way they know any more about this than me. "The regulations requiring a single Victor have been suspended. From now on, two Victors may be crowned, if both originate from the same district. This will be the only announcement."

As if my mind wasn't already racing enough. I can hardly keep track of my own thoughts. Haymitch. I know that this must be his doing instantly. There's no other Mentor with both of their tributes still in the Games, Brutus isn't creative enough to come up with it and to be honest, I don' think even Seneca Crane is crazy enough to come up with an idea like that on his own. Stupid enough to pretend it's his own idea, sure. But come up with it? It could only be the idea of a drunken madman. "Haymitch," I sneer, accidentally letting it slip out loud. I feel my face drop its previous pretenses and into an emotionless stare as I put all my energy into thinking rather than keeping up appearances.

But then it's not a bad rule change for me, is it? Cato and Clove can both survive. That is, if the Gamemakers keep up their end of the bargain, which I'm fairly certain they wouldn't. Haymitch has to know that. But if Haymitch has influenced this rule change, one that would knowingly put Cato and Clove into arguably the best position to win since Peeta is half-dead, what does he know that I don't?

I leap up out of my seat. I'm not yet sure if I want to make a run for Haymitch to wring his neck, or to Seneca...to wring his neck. I decide that I'm going to head to the Control Centre because I can deal with Haymitch later. Seneca is the one who's about to get an earful. I hear Finnick and Jo get up to follow after me, but I'm speedwalking so by the time they're only a few paces behind me, I'm already inside. "You don't even know if Haymitch is the one who did this and--"

I don't even glance over my shoulder to look at him before shooting him down mid-sentence. "Shut up, Finnick."

I hear Jo let out a snort and their footsteps stop. I'm going to have to apologize for that later, but right now, I've got work to do. The distraction of Rue's death is no longer in my mind, and I want to punch myself in the face for letting something like that get to me. The thought experiment of no more Hunger Games that I'd been running with Haymitch is dead in the water.

The bridge to the Control Centre building is far from the courtyard since it needs to be far from public access. So it doesn't surprise me that when I arrive I hear Ceeder, a Mentor from 11, and Porter-Millicent Tripp, from 5, already there. The Mentor Command Centre is only a few steps away from the bridge. Both of them are heckling Seneca about the rule change. I don't blame them since I'm about to do the same thing, and since their Tributes are now at a terrible disadvantage. Porter is complaining about the effect the rule change will have on her sponsorships. "...How am I supposed to sell them 'Foxface' when they can get a two-for-one deal with 2 or 12!"

When I enter into their view, both shoot me a stare that I can't place for a moment. Oh no, I think. They think I did it. "It was Haymitch," I inform them.

I'm prepared to explain, but apparently, seeing me there, clearly looking pissed off and ready to complain too, is enough for them. Both glance to look at one another before a look of shared anger crosses their faces, and they take off in the direction of the bar, going after Haymitch.

That leaves Seneca and| I alone in the room with a peacekeeper. No more nice Octavia for Seneca. There's no fake smile on my face, and my eyes are narrowed. I glance to the peacekeeper and sigh, letting him know that I don't want our conversation to be overheard. The anger inside me is boiling up, but it's controlled anger. It makes me feel like I'm thinking clearer than I ever have. I need to put feelings out of the way and cut some throats to get what I want. And I'll do exactly that.

He glances at the peacekeeper for a moment, unsure if that's a good idea, but when he sees I'm not going to budge, he holds out his hand for the peacekeeper to stay put and leads me around the corner. He stops after a few paces down the unused hallway, but I make sure to get into his space and take a few extra paces. He backs up instinctively, and the back of one of his shoes makes a clunking noise as it hits the wall. "You're breaking the rules," I hiss at him, my voice full of malice.

These words seem to piss him off based on how hard his tone bites back. "I make the rules." I seem to have hit a nerve.

I raise an eyebrow and chuckle before my face settles back into the vexed expression it was in previously. "You and I both know who really makes the rules." I take a step back and pretend to think for a moment. "You see, he doesn't like an underdog. That's why he likes you, and that's why he likes me." My words seem to affect Seneca because he steps away from the wall. "We're predictable, and in that sense, reliable." The malice is still ringing clear in my voice, as well as an almost patronizing tone. "We can be counted on to look at those underneath us and squash them under our boots like bugs when they begin to crawl out of their little holes."

I get into his space again, but this time he doesn't take a step back. "And you know why? Because you and I? We have this great little thing called a self-preservation instinct that kicks in to tell us to do anything to survive. How yours hasn't kicked in yet, I'll never know." That seems like a good place for me to end it, and I turn to walk away. I wear a smirk on my face, knowing that I've gotten into the head of the Head Gamemaker.

"Octavia," I hear him call from behind me. His voice isn't angry anymore. It's much more even-keeled. "What do you mean, 'it hasn't kicked in'?"

I sigh. Poor clueless man. Not really. I hate him. But the clueless part still stands. I turn around as if I'm one of those Ballerinas in the dance shows, trying to look at ethereal as possible. "He doesn't like underdogs, and you've just helped two, for whatever entertaining reason Haymitch fed you." I scrunch my nose in distaste and look away. "Not that you'd ever tell me what he's up to. But whatever it is, don't let them get too far away from you. Otherwise, when they're out of the reach of your boot, and you can't squash them anymore, they're going to need to find someone else who can do it."

My fake smile returns to my face for the first time since seeing Seneca. "Have a good day!" I shout to him cheerily as I make my exit.

Next is Haymitch. Square up, old man.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Uh oh, it looks like Haymitch is in-trouble. The doubts and sentiments that hit Octavia from the night before are now gone, and she's back into the Career mentality. What's going to happen when she confronts Katniss? And how will Cato and Clove react to the rule change? All this and more coming up! But the real question is...what did Seneca think of that conversation?

Okay, everyone! Only a couple of announcements here. This chapter and the next were originally meant to be one, so as of right now and assuming no more get split into two parts, there are three chapters left in Act II/ The Hunger Games, and then a smaller epilogue chapter. Catching Fire is coming up, so I'd love to hear your theories for what might happen in that book! Let me know in the comments!

Question Time (ish): I'm thinking of changing Octavia's faceclaim to Marie Avgeropoulos, who also happens to play someone named Octavia in a series called The 100. I've been picturing someone with dark hair since the beginning of Act II, which is why I've been trying to avoid any references to hair colour. I also like keeping it more open-ended in terms of appearance in the recent chapters so that it's easier for readers to imagine them playing Octavia if they so wish. But an important something is coming up, and without it giving too much away, where it's important for Octavia to look like another character who has darker hair. Anyway, I'm pretty sure I'm going to change it, but I wanted to make people aware since I know at the beginning I state that she's a blonde (which I will go back and fix if I change it). Thoughts? I'll come back and delete this later to avoid confusion if/when I change.

Onto the only reason I completed my assignments this week, the Chapterly Memes: