All I can do is sit and watch the endless stream of wilderness pass by the window of the train, carrying me away from the only home I've ever known. District One, my family, my friends, the Academy, the production plants, they're all behind me now. The tracks only go one way and it seems all roads lead to the Hunger Games. I suppose they have for a long time.
Out on the horizon, I can see the bright orange of the setting sun slipping behind the immense mountains, turning them into black silhouettes of themselves. I'm glad my room has a window. I don't particularly feel like going out and talking to the others. Glimmer just frustrates me. I know her type, a District One cliché, a spoiled rich girl fortune smiled upon for some bizarre reason, an overconfident, callous tribute completely assured of her own victory. Victory…we haven't been away from home for even a day. We haven't jumped through all the Capitol hoops and we certainly haven't set foot in the arena. I know better. I have no delusions about what I'm getting myself into. I just remember what they said in the Academy: it's a vicious fight from beginning to end and I have to be ready for that. Otherwise…well I try not to think about the otherwise part.
I hear a knock at the door accompanied by a shrill voice laced with that goofy Capitol accent. "Marvel!" calls the sing-song voice of our escort, Prue, "It's time for dinner and Gloss wants you out of hiding to watch the recap."
I groan, but know I must comply. "I'll be out in a minute," I say.
Fortunately, Prue accepts the answer and leaves. I'd been lounging around my room after the reaping in nothing but sweatpants and a t-shirt, but decide not to change for dinner. After all, it's not like these are people I need to impress.
I head into the dining car. Glimmer, Prue and our mentors, the extremely famous sibling-duo of Cashmere and Gloss, are already seated around the fine mahogany table, enjoying dinner. "Finally. I was beginning to wonder if you were going to hide in there until we reached the Capitol," says Gloss, his smirk as white as porcelain.
I just shrug. "I was a little tired, just wanted to rest a bit," I lie. I was really just trying to avoid all of you.
"You better not have been breaking down in there. There's no room for softness in the Games and I certainly won't mentor anyone that fragile," says Gloss, his eyes narrowing.
"Hey, I wouldn't have volunteered if I couldn't handle it," I snap back as I take a seat beside my district partner. That's the truth. I've got a better reason for doing this than any other tribute in the Games. My family needs this. That gives me far more drive than pursuit of glory ever could, something I doubt Gloss understands.
"Don't worry about him. Marvel's always been kinda weird like that. Back at the Academy, I'd always see him training alone, just throwing that spear over and over and over. He barely talked to anyone and certainly not any of the girls," laughs Glimmer, her voice high and nasally and oh-so blonde.
"Maybe if you trained more, you'd be better prepared!" I snap back, even though there was some truth to what she said.
"Hey! I beat out every girl in my age group! You don't have to be a dick just because you can't relate to anyone," says Glimmer sharply.
"Y'know Marvel, I never would've picked you for the awkward guy. Most kids that get the honor of being selected to be tribute are natural leaders and have that edge about them," comments Cashmere
I huff. Somehow I think surviving the Games will be easier than surviving the week with these three. "I'm not super awkward. I was just all business at the Academy. I trained hard and didn't let dumb things distract me. It's what made me effective," I say.
Gloss nods. "Well, that I can work with. Speaking of which, we need to start getting into strategy. I assume you two are up for a career alliance?" he asks.
We both nod, although Glimmer's more enthusiastic than me. I don't particularly like the careers, but I know it's what I have to do. Working with them early will give me the best shot at winning and securing my family's future.
"Good. We won't know for sure until the recap, but Districts Two and Four usually produce solid allies…at least until you get deep into the Games," says Cashmere wisely. The look in her eyes is blank, like her mind has drifted back to her Hunger Games over ten years ago.
"What're your skills anyway?" Gloss asks.
"I'm good with knives, but even better with a bow," says Glimmer confidently. I try to suppress my laughter beneath my hand, but it keeps seeping out. Good with a bow? She spent more time flirting at the Academy than practicing. There was actually a rumor going around that she slept with the head trainer to make tribute.
"Something funny?" demands Glimmer, noticing my struggle.
"Oh no no no. Nothing funny at all. You're great with a bow," I say, unable to keep the sarcasm out of my voice.
"What're you so great at?" asks Cashmere from across the table. Evidently, she doesn't like me mocking her tribute.
"Like Glimmer said earlier, spears. I can throw 'em like darts," I say with pride. It's the truth. Back at the Academy, nobody could even come close to me in that department. I could skewer a dummy from twenty yards away. The others were lucky if they could even get near it.
"You've certainly got the arms of a spear-guy," says Gloss observantly. "I see no reason to do anything crazy this year. Both of you seem like you've got skill, so just hook up with the other careers early and pick off the other tributes until it's time to make your move."
"Oh, these strategic discussions are so dry," complains Prue, having had nothing to contribute to our conversation. "Just wait until you two see the Capitol. Don't get me wrong. District One is marvelous and certainly better than other districts. I was a mentor at Twelve for a few years and I have never seen a more poorly dressed, slovenly group of people in my entire life. One year, I remember my tributes…
I tune out after that and focus on the spectacular food being served. It's certainly better than what I ate back home. The meats are well-cooked. The vegetables are crisp. The bread smells fresh and the dessert, rich chocolate cake, is succulent. The din of conversation swirls around me as the avoxes remove dishes and bring in new ones. I can't imagine how they feel, voiceless and reduced to slavery. I wish I could speak to one and show it a little decency, show it that not everybody thinks what's happened to them is okay, but I can't. Besides being illegal, I doubt Gloss would stand for such a display of sympathy from a tribute.
After dinner, we all head into a different, well-furnished car to watch the recap of the reapings. Somehow, I find myself squeezed onto a plush couch between my best friends in the whole-wide world, Glimmer and Gloss. Prue leaves, most likely to go throw up the food she just ate, as the broadcast starts.
District One is first. I watch Glimmer, dressed in her expensive gold dress and heels, saunter onto the stage again, looking the part of the beautiful District One girl. Then I see myself volunteer, dressed relatively modestly for a District One kid in a plain white dress-shirt and black slacks. I take the stage confidently and state my name for all of Panem, Marvel Maddox. I did well, but seeing the reaping brings back memories of the tearful goodbye afterwards, of my parents hugging me tighter than ever before and telling me how proud they were of me, of my little brother, Striker, making me promise to win as he balanced on his crutches. I shake my head to clear these thoughts. All they do is make me sad and for the next few weeks, I can't allow myself to lose focus. The stakes are way too high for that.
Next, is District Two and it doesn't disappoint. A huge, hulking blonde guy with the coldest gaze I've ever seen volunteers. He says his name is Cato and I can tell by the way he carries himself that he's already convinced of his victory. Okay, maybe Cato's gaze wasn't the coldest one I've ever seen. His district partner, a small, devious looking girl named Clove, has him beat in that department. Her gaze is a bit different though. Something about her gaze indicates something sadistic, an almost feverish desire not just to kill, but to enjoy it and savor every detail of another's suffering. I make a mental note not to underestimate her in the arena.
"Make sure you get in their good graces," says Cashmere, gesturing towards the ominous pair of District Two tributes on the screen, "That isn't someone you want to fight against unless it's absolutely necessary."
"I certainly wouldn't mind being allied with Cato," says Glimmer, running her tongue over her plump pink lips seductively. I roll my eyes at that. Something tells me Cato would rather kill her than kiss her.
"Focus, girl. Once the other tributes start falling off, that's not your ally and certainly not your lover. That's the enemy," cautions Cashmere.
Glimmer pouts. "I know that. Nothing wrong with a little fun before the Games, though," she says with a giggle.
Fortunately, the broadcast continues, stopping the awkward conversation there. Not much interesting happens. District Four looks alright, but most of the other districts pass by with the usual scrawny kids woefully unprepared for the struggle they've been dragged into. District Ten produces a boy with a crippled foot.
"Another one for the bloodbath," says Gloss dryly as we watch the poor bastard hobble onto the stage. It makes me a little bit sick. I suddenly find myself imagining Striker being reaped and trying to navigate the steps of the stage with his crutches. No. That will never happen. Once I win, Striker and my parents will never have to worry about anything ever again. I accomplish this one great feat and we're set for life.
District Eleven pops up. Then a twelve-year-old girl is reaped. Once again, I feel a little bit sick. It really is unfair that twelve-year-olds are reaped and expected to compete against well-trained, fully-grown teenagers like me and Cato. They never stand a chance. It's not like the Capitol cares about that, though. As long as the districts keep supplying them with a fresh batch of wide-eyed tributes to die for their entertainment each year, they're happy.
Then the girl's district partner is reaped. Holy shit. This guy is huge. I watch the dark giant lumber out of the crowd and up onto the stage. The wood creaks beneath his feet as he walks and his huge hands, which look capable of choking the life out of anyone, are curled into fists at his sides. He says his name is Thresh and I know immediately the career alliance may have a problem this year.
Gloss whistles. "Seems like there's a surprise every year," he says.
"Keep your eyes on him during training. If you think you can trust him, bring him into the alliance," says Cashmere.
I turn my head back to screen to watch the final reaping: District Twelve's. First, a petite, timid looking twelve-year-old girl is reaped. Great, another kid being dragged into this. It's so messed up. They're not ready. They never are. It's a damn miracle if they survive the bloodbath. I can already see Clove using the poor girl as target practice when a tall, beautiful brunette rushes out of the crowd, frantic to reach the doomed kid. She's screaming something and squabbling with peacekeepers until she shrugs them off and utters the words I never thought I'd hear come from anyone from District Twelve: I volunteer as tribute.
"Wait, what?" says Glimmer on the other side of the couch. For once, I share her sentiments. I can't believe what I'm seeing.
The dark-haired girl straightens herself and walks to the stage, looking composed and ready to take on the world. She says her name is Katniss. Katniss Everdeen. The escort deduces why she volunteered. The small girl was her sister and she's taking her place, saving her life.
"Someone's got a death wish," says Gloss with a chuckle.
I don't pay attention as the District Twelve male is reaped. In years of studying film of the Hunger Games, I've never seen that. I've never seen anyone from the outer districts volunteer, not even for a loved one. In those districts, the word tribute is almost synonymous with corpse and familial obligations only go so far. But not Katniss Everdeen apparently. She's my future adversary and yet I can't help but feel admiration for her. She knows the odds aren't in her favor and yet she volunteered. She volunteered for her family. I suppose the others wouldn't understand, but I do. I imagine what I'd do if Striker was reaped and my choice is clear.
"You don't think that District Twelve rat is going to be trouble do you?" asks Glimmer.
"Hell no. District Twelve always bites it on the first day," says Gloss, dismissing the apparently ludicrous idea immediately.
Cashmere is a little wiser. "I doubt it, but maybe she's got something up her sleeve. She did volunteer after all. Just watch her during training. You'll know pretty quick if she's going to be any threat," she says.
We all retire to our rooms after the recap and I am left alone with my thoughts. I'm not sure if that's good or bad. It's nice to be away from everyone else, but I keep seeing faces. Faces of people I know don't deserve to die, but will have to if I'm going to give my family everything it needs. I see the girl from eleven and the boy from ten, but most of all I see Katniss. She doesn't even have training and yet she's willing to jump into the fray for her sister. Someone so noble should get to live longer, but if I've learned one thing in my eighteen years it's that life is never fair.
A/N: For a character that has never gotten the fanfic love they deserve. All reviews, favs and follows are greatly appreciated.