#p4etask

He would have said his favorite thing about his daughter was how she was a spitting image of her mother. How Arista’s sweet singing voice was an echo of happier times when Orla would sing to her a child. How Arista’s gentle nature brought out the best in everyone. Arlo would have talked so long Ceasar would have had to remind him they had other tributes and other questions to ask.

When Caesar Flickerman questions him about why his daughter should be a Victor, he would point out the child was a born survivor. No, he would not tell Panem about the epidemic that claimed his wife and how his child kept him smiling despite her mother’s death. He would not tell them about her efforts to clean the house, cook dinner, and look after him while he was grieving despite her own pain. They did not deserve that part of her.

Nor would he tell them about the tornado that had ripped through District Nine the year before. It had been frightening and everything had been lost, but they had made it. If Arista could persevere through that she could make it through this too. His little girl had more fire in her than she realized. Every fiber of him knew Arista felt afraid and like she couldn’t do it, oh but she could! She had to.

The moment that had scared him most... The fallout of the alliance with the girl from District Five. It had been the moment that had scared Arista the most as well. Her heart still pounded at the mere thought of it. How it had felt staring up at her dark eyes as the girl told her she was tired of games Arista hadn’t known she was playing, how she was going to make sure she never made it out there alive because she was angry. Angry about knives Arista hadn’t told her she received. In her nightmares, Arista still heard the popping noise her Achilles tendon had made when the girl twisted her foot.

The cry that had left her lips had chilled her blood, so she could only imagine what it had been like for her father.

Would he have been relieved when the ground trembled and interrupted what would have been a fight to the death? Or would her father have been relieved?

Caesar’s next question Arista was certain would have brought tears to her father’s eyes, who would he root for if Arista couldn’t win. His smile would have faltered to a frown because what kind of man would ask that of a father? Was he heartless if he said no one because he didn’t want anyone to win if Arista could not? It did not make him a bad man did it? Not that he wished death on anyone’s child but he wanted his own to win.

It would be one question Caesar Flickerman would not get an answer to. The silence would build between them until the usually jolly host went to his next question. To what would he like his daughter. 

“That I love her.” Sometimes life was just that simple and sweet.

But her interview had not gone like that. Instead, Panem had listened to girls that claimed to be Arista’s friend tell them about the quiet girl that sang in the chorus, who they assumed was friendly but shy. To the chorus teacher who said she was brimming with a quiet talent and a magical voice. They heard of the party District Nine would throw if they finally had a Victor after more than thirty years without one.

It was clinche, but Cambric was listening to Caesar ask his mother what she thought when he was reaped. Her voice came floating back to him and the million and one times she had lectured him on being a proper man, an example for his siblings...

“I...” there was a pause in Georgette’s voice. “There are no words to explain how I felt. He was, he is, my son.” What her voice did not portray was the truth of the matter, how it felt in the Districts. The near certainty that you would next see your child in a pine box. That their family had lost their breadwinner and strength. There would be no one to help her manage the children and prop her up. “I just wanted him to come back. I still want him to come back.”

Funny how just six months later Cambric heard her voice screaming at him to get out and never come back. Six months was all it took for his mother to blame her for the cause of his brother’s death, which wasn’t far from the truth.

So lost was Cambric in his memories he didn’t hear the next question but he could guess what it was listening to the excited words of his little brother.

“Cam is so fun! He tells all the funny jokes that make people laugh,” the little boy, Cambric’s brother, said with a trill of a laugh. “Even the Peacekeepers laugh at his jokes! He told me a joke before the reaping you know! How it was raining so hard we were all like wet dogs after a bath!” With that Cambric’s little brother gave a mock shake, not unlike a wet dog, as his brother had just weeks early to help alleviate his fears about his first reaping.

What would his brother be like now? Cambric could almost see him as a man, still waiting for his facial hair to come and have to shave. His brother twenty-five years old, chasing the girls, but still unable to shave. His boyish looks would draw in all the ladies in District Eight, but he would still have eyes only for his high school sweetheart. Twill Batiste would have been a teen heartthrob had it not been for Cambric’s foolish actions.

“If I were there I’d tell him...” This time it was his sister’s voice that floated through the memories of his brother. His practical sister who never risked anything and never had to risk anything. “It’s time to make his own way. Others only make you weak...”

Linsey would have thought that his alliance with District One was a sign of weakness. Most thought Cambric had been smart to pair with the pair favored to win. They were strong, well supplied, and Career allies usually paved a path towards the crown if you knew the right moment to get out of the Pact. Did anyone ever get out of the Career Pack in one piece? Cambric’s heart hadn’t survived the encounter.

Sweet Iolite... Her eyes were as blue as the summer sky. 

“You should bet on Cambric because he’s the best big brother!” Came the voice of his brother again making Cambric smile. He was far from the best but it was nice to know that someone thought so. A good big brother would have kept him safe.

“When Cambric gets home, I want a hug! That’s what we have to do when he wins...”

Cambric swallowed hard as he shook his head hoping to shake his emotions out of his head also. He couldn’t watch the rest of this interview. He didn’t care what his family had to say about his time in the arena. Instead, he got up and flicked the television off as a tint of a tear worked its way into his eye.

No. No. he wasn’t going there.