Normally, hearing praise from Katniss would have made Prim incredibly happy. It wasn't every day that the older girl found a reason to speak highly of someone, and the blonde knew just how rare this moment was. However, those words had fallen flat, and Prim didn't think that there was anything for Katniss to be proud of when she and the rest of their alliance had been lying to her face almost as soon as they had arrived at the Capitol. Still, Prim managed a smile and did her best to think about just what Katniss was saying, how proud she really was. Acknowledgment, no matter how much guilt it was soaked in, was still nice to hear. “Thank you,” the younger girl smiled, “you helped me a lot, though.” They all had, and Prim was grateful that the others even cared to lift her up.
Soon enough, the others began to arrive to the table, but Haymitch was the last to show his face. Hearing that they had less than hour before all hell broke loose was intimidating, but Prim managed not to look worried on the outside. Instead, she forced herself to eat—another bite of toast, another forkful of eggs and a swallow of juice—it was a system that seemed to work well enough, even as Peeta began to give them the rundown of how things would go. In that moment, he seemed like a natural leader, as if the mentor position had been made for him, and he hadn't just stepped into it after Haymitch had turned into a tribute once more.
The hovercraft, the trackers, the general feeling of unavoidable doom was something that Haymitch was all too familiar with. He didn't need Effie, or Peeta (especially) to tell him how things were going to go, not when he had been a mentor for more than two decades and had suffered through the arena once before. The only difference about this Quarter Quell was that things would be more sophisticated, more advanced and the horrors that would be inflicted upon himself and the others was mostly unimaginable. In the back of his mind, Haymitch knew that everyone only wanted a good show, that television was always going to be terrible trash, but there was no real way to rationalize what was about to happen to them. Bitterly, the former Victor stabbed at a piece of breakfast sausage.
“A backpack isn't going to save my life,” Prim said after Peeta had finished.
Looking up from his place, Haymitch raised a surprisingly proud eyebrow. Out of everyone at the table, Prim was the last person he expected to question Peeta's methods. He was planning on doing it himself, but a mouth full of dry toast had prevented it. “Finding each other isn't impossible,” he agreed, looking to Katniss, “but finding each other without weapons is.” He paused and looked to Peeta and remembered the line he was now toeing with the boy. “There's no telling what could be in a backpack, but...if you're fast, I'd try and get both.”
For years, Haymitch's advice to his tributes from District 12 had been the same—snag a backpack early, run fast, run far and stay alive. Somehow, the older blond didn't think that same advice would qualify this time around. These latest games weren't just about punishment, they were about punishing one person, the girl across from him who had dared to defy the Capitol. If she ran, they would find her, if she didn't arm herself, they would find her quicker and Haymitch had to agree that backpacks weren't going to do much of anything for anyone in the long run. If this was the previous year, Haymitch would have agreed with Peeta in a heartbeat, but there was so much more at stake this time.
Although Prim wanted to cooperate with Peeta, do everything he said and make sure that the plan went smoothly, not having a weapon just sounded crazy. She hadn't trained for nothing, and when there were members of their own alliance that she didn't trust, Prim didn't want to be without something to defend herself with. She was fast enough, she thought that much of herself. Looking to Katniss and then to Gale, Prim had a decision to make.
“The bloodbath isn't worth it,” Peeta spoke up to the defiance. “It's a good way to get yourselves killed.”
Seven days was such a long time, but Prim didn't want to die within the first few minutes of the games. She was inexperienced, had no idea what the bloodbath was like aside from seeing it on television and she supposed that Peeta was only trying to keep them safe. She idly pushed bits of egg around her plate, having lost her appetite entirely.
When the mood was sucked out of a room, Effie was always there to fix it. “None of you are going to get yourselves killed,” she promised with a smile. Her expression didn't falter, although Haymitch knew how sad she was. The brightly-colored woman had never been one to get overly attached to her tributes, but that had changed the year before when they had started to show some promise—she cared deeply for Katniss and Peeta, and now Prim and Gale and although he didn't like to admit it, himself as well. Haymitch would have been lying if he said he didn't care about her too.
“You can give all the advice you want,” Haymitch shrugged and then looked pointedly to Katniss with an amused grin, “doesn't mean they'll listen.” The Girl On Fire had cherry-picked every word of advice he had given the year before, but it kept her and Peeta alive. “Instinct just kind of takes over, anyway.” If they didn't listen, if they all ran straight for the cornucopia, it would be no fault of Peeta's.
