Summary: Neighbours Marvel and Cato confer & deliberate on the railway on who should be the lead Career this year. Thing's are about to get steamy.
A/N: You might have seen that, although the listed paring is Cato – Marvel, I have put it down as Marvel v. Cato.
A/N: I would like to give my hearty thanks and complete recognition and accommodation to guysonfire for inspiring me to write this narrative. He/she is truly a novelist of the first rate, and I should recommend you to read his works if you found mine interesting.
Warning: poor authorship, slash (or lack thereof).
I hereby disclaim ownership of the Hunger Games.
Dictatorship
Ah yes – I sign inevitably as I enter my carriage on the train, waving goodbye to my supporters and admirers. The place is incredibly well furnished. In about half a day, the tributes from District 2 will be joining us, as apparently the train goes this route. There is, however, a very pressing worry on my plate: I need to be the leader of the Career pack. For the past few Games, the leadership of the Careers has been monopolized by the tributes from 2, and District 1 desperately needs a leader, or else I should not gain many sponsors this year.
Due to the curious way the reapings are arranged, we will experience the strange phenomenon of witnessing them reaped and almost immediately stepping onto the train.
Flipping on the telly (that is a District-1-ism,) my entourage and I manage to catch the beginning of the reapings of District 2. Reaping is not quite the most descriptive term there is for the event: murder is perhaps the better term – mind-bogglingly well-trained pupils fight against each other to by the tribute.
To the right of the Mayor of the District sit the various victors from the place, and judging by the sheer amount of sofas that lined the promenade, they had quite a few.
Their escort, Franklin Boxworth, stands up to the dais. A short, plump man, he looked rather out-of-place in District 2. District 2, as rumours will carry, is a place of strength and power; nobody there ever tolerates weakness.
To his left stand the ladies – no, plainly females, as few of them deserve the title, and they have in their demeanour the ferocity and confidence that one would expect from only a male in such a paternal society. Their appearance betrays the obvious illegality of the majority of their associations and diversions – not that I am in a position to criticize, and the taint is equally well stained on me.
The Treaty is read, and from good school education provided in my town, I can recite the provisions almost one-by-one; I doubt if this is the case in the inferior (but nominally, numerically superior) district.
Demographically speaking, District 2 is a lot like District 1; the majority of the population have blond hair and light-coloured eyes. However, their training programme is considerably different from that of ours: more strength training for both sexes and this public secret is shamelessly divulged through the intentionally tight attire donned by the tribute hopefuls.
"Marvel~" whines my mentor, Gloss.
"Yes, Gloss?"
"Marvel~"
"Yes! Master~ Gloss."
"Yes Marvel?"
"I though you had something to say?"
"Yes. It's about the lead Career this year. Glimmer has withdrawn from the race, and we must think about some strategy to put the others off. Let's start with putting 4's tributes off."
"That's simple. We'll simple tell them that it's a fait accompli when the come onto the train."
"Marvel~"
"Yes~"
"You're brilliant~"
"Thanks. What about 2?"
"My gut feeling is that the dark-haired girl, Clove, will withdraw too. So that leaves Cato to compete with you, and we definitely need to catch them off guard."
"And?"
"We'll [so and so]…"
…
"Remember, Marvel, you will be the gentleman and charm them into submission. Glimmer is your lady, and treat her like one."
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Cato walks into the Parlour Carriage in which both Glimmer and I were sitting. If there ever was a "best smirk" award given, I swear that Cato will get the prize absolutely unopposed. But then there are many peculiarities that tributes from 2 have, and their "death glare" course clearly has an effect on Clove, the silent and lethal girl beside Cato.
Cato apparently had a change of mind: on the telly he was wearing a leather jacket, now he is in white tie, with a shiny hat and a cane. I look down at my t-shirt and jeans. Pitiful, I told myself.
Physically, Cato must be at least 240 lbs. and insanely powerful; the transmitted footage does no justice to his build. Fortunately, I am 1 inch taller than he is, and this gives me the opportunity to stare him down. Then the monstrous winner from 2, Brutus, shakes hands with my mentor Gloss. Such a difference exhibited: Cashmere, graceful and elegant; Brutus, brutish and rough.
Unfortunately, 1 inch gives me the opportunity only. Cato refuses to look into my eyes even as I speak to him.
"Pleasure to meet you," I speak, as cordially as I possibly could, and extending me hand, "Cato."
The complete unexpected happens.
Cato gives me a sweeping bow that I could not respond in a timely manner; I can't bow in time to return his courtesy. I am the first to be embarrassed. As he resumes his standing position, I can only describe the massive smirk on his face as downright evil.
He then approaches Glimmer in an incredibly overtly flirtatious manner. She responds erotically and offers her hand in recognition; he takes it, and gently kisses her hand. Then, the rough-and-ready Brutus follows suit with Cashmere.
It looks like I might not be the only gentleman on board.
I need to take action to prevent the situation from deteriorating further. Time to drop the writs and call the election.
"Ahem," I clear my throat, holding up a piece of paper, "my mentor, by virtue of the traditions of friendship and co-operation given and granted to us by our forefathers, desirous to continue the said friendship and co-operation between our two districts, do, by the letters patent which I now read, command all and singular of us to elect amongst us a lead Career, the which leader-elect shall be presented at the earliest convenience to my mentor, and all the other mentors, for their benediction and approbation."
Cato nods in calculation.
"I, Marvel, do hereby declare my candidacy for the position of lead Career for the seventy-fourth edition of the Games, and by virtue of my seal applied hence, de declare the said candidacy."
Almost immediately, Cato declares in like form his candidacy. I was hoping that it legalese would confuse him, but evidently it didn't. I have another plan up my sleeve.
"There being no further nominations, the question is that the bill be read the third time."
"Hear, hear," chants Cato, nodding politely, but his malevolent grin still present on his face.
"The question is that the doors be barred."
"Ha?" pipes Cato, but it is my turn to wear the evil grin as Gloss and Cashmere usher Brutus and Enobaria out, completely catching them by surprise.
"Firstly, for candidate No. 1, Marvel. Ayes to the right, nays to the left. Clear the lobbies!"
That caught Cato by surprise.
Glimmer, the two mentors, and I stand to my right, leaving Cato and Clove standing pitifully to the left. I put the names of the six people present on a piece of paper and indicate their positions. After half an hour, we re-converge at the centre of the room. I read out the results.
"Ayes to the right, 4 votes; nays to the left, 2 votes. I think the ayes have it! I declare Marvel the lead Career this year! Yay!"
"Marvel!" Cato shouts as he rushes towards me, "We think the nays have it!"
"No! The ayes have it!"
"Why?"
"I am the father of the house; you are 16, Glimmer is 16, Clove is 13, and I am 17, so I am considered speaker in preference before you."
"Marvel, you are an evil dictator!"
"No~" I say as I assume his evil grin, "the democratically elected lead Career. And trust me, as speaker I get to discipline you all I like."