Tick Tock Goes The Clock (Chapter 3)
Destiny Of The Shadows (Hermione Granger's POV)
The president's wave is so flirtatious he looks like a queen standing up on the balcony, overlooking us all with greedy eyes. The noise is blaring as the fans and Capitol citizens shout like maniacs, just waiting to hear his sing-song voice boom out in exhilaration. All twelve chariots have stopped in a horseshoe shape at the base of the ledge, stationed at the end of the runway to be greeted by the leader of Panem.
"Welcome!" Moriarty has to repeat himself several times before the crowd dies down. The women in the audience seem to be leaning in closer than the men, fangirling over his presence and his slicked back hair. The president of Panem waves his hand bashfully, shaking off the popular attention and snatching the chance to speak before it became too late.
"Welcome!" The crowd cheered again. I looked away in disgust. Pretty much all of the other tributes had too. I decided to study everyone's outfits and posture while we waited. Ever since the third Quarter Quell, the stylists have neglected to dress their competitors in clothes themed off the districts, so everyone looks unlike themselves in the sense that they've been transformed into fashion sensations. The closest carriage to ours is the miners' district, directly off to the right and behind all the even numbered district chariots. During the parade, the odds had broken off to the left and the evens right as they approached the dead end of the road.
The tribute closest to me is the boy from District 12. He looks about my age but is shorter in height for a teenager. The girl from his district could pass as his sister; they both have blonde hair and their facial features compare similarities to each other. I don't know their names yet; I don't know anybody's name except for Steve Rodgers, the boy from my homeland. I try not to blush whenever he speaks to me, cause he's really handsome for a male from District 11 and has a tender voice.
I watch both of them out of the corner of my eye, picking out some traits about them just by how they act. The boy from 12 has his pupils locked on Jim Moriarty, glaring at the president with narrowed eyes. His thick eyebrows are contracted, and his blue eyes definitely know how to express whatever human emotion possible. There's anger, betrayal, and rebellion all in the depths of his blue rush of irises at once.
The roar of the stands intensifies as two new faces join by the president's side. One of them is wearing a neatly ironed suit, black and white like the old-fashioned days. The other's blazer is longer and forest green, his long hair combed entirely off his ghost-white face. My gaze leaves the tributes from District 12 and flash back to the balcony.
President Moriarty has been accompanied by The Master and Loki; The Head Game maker and the Inspector during training. They're the reason why these games are the worst yet. Sure, we have various ages of fighters this year, an equal amount of younger and older kids, but a threesome this powerful running the games would be like trying to stop a tsunami from crushing everything in its path.
"Welcome!" It has taken Jim over five minutes to begin his opening speech. If the crowd would just shut up, we wouldn't have this stupid delay. I really want to shout out myself, but I know it's wrong and I would get busted for my rude remarks. I could really teach that man a lesson; he has no right to throw us into an arena to watch us kill one another. The result could just be another war some day, and we all know what that ends in.
Destruction and ruin.
At least the president is thoughtful and keeps his speech short and sweet; at least, it's appealing to the audience. "This year, in celebration of the 100th Hunger Games, and most importantly, the 4th Quarter Quell, I have selected myself a most amusing group of tributes to be present in our competition this year." The crowd gives off another roar, louder than a lion's, and Moriarty bows in honor at his apparently charming words. And he called us amusing. Clear sign he's just waiting to see us all become bait in the arena.
I glare at the crowd to my right and catch the eyes of a woman wearing far too much yellow makeup. Her black eyeliner just makes her look like some sort of bumblebee. I narrow my own eyes and contract my eyebrows to slowly rotate my head away in a disturbed gesture.
Jim brushes off the front of his suit before spreading more information for the whole of Panem to witness. "All of the young competitors in front of you all were kids I found to be, unique in their own way." I saw the boy from District 5 tilt his head and I knew in my mind he had rolled his eyes. "Tributes, I wish you the best of luck in these games. As you may have guessed already, they're the best we've had yet." And that only means violent, I concluded.
"And remember," he says as he leans over the balcony railing, "Happy Hunger Games." I can tell by now all of us want to strangle him, but that's not allowed until the contest truly begins. And of course, he has to finish his little pep talk with everyone's favorite saying. "And may the odds be ever in your favor."
I resist the urge to cover my ears from the blasting wave of sound that erupts in the stadium. The president steps down from the podium and his trusty sidekicks follow. I nearly lose my balance when the carriage gives a lurch and we trot forward, crossing in front of the even numbered district chariots as we head around the arch of the end of the runway. We circle back around and leave the parade in single file, our sled leaving second to last based on order.
My mentor Tris and Steve's, named Gus, are both standing and beaming at us when we come through the curtain to the backstage boarding cargo. Our horses direct us over to the secluded corner where they're standing, and their hooves stop clanking as the wheels on the cart roll to a halt.
Tris helps me down from the chariot and I back away from Steve, even if he is a pretty decent looking bloke. His skin-tight outfit makes him resemble a soldier with his arms, and I'm sure by the time we enter the arena after training he'll have bodybuilder muscles.
"Not bad," she comments, rubbing my upper back and winking. She turns to face my district mate and nods. She's clearly impressed by his performance. "At least we're more popular than some of the other districts. Four, five, and six never really seem to get any supporters over these last years. I say we've got a fair shot at being one of the favorites."
She starts to push me along but I halt in place. The stern-looking boy from District 2 has caught my eye, and his glare is so fierce his eyes are like flames. I'm basically his meat, and he's the hunter planning to track me down. He's probably already laid out his plans for the 100th Hunger Games. He can spot every pressure point on each tribute, I can see it. I, Miss Hermione Granger, can realize everything. I can tell you the difference in taste of mint verses parsley, the sound of various birds, and the smell of groups of flowers blindfolded.
People back home used to call me a freak, or smarty-pants because I knew so much. I learned it from working in the fields and reading the only books I had as a kid on our living room shelves. While we tend to the crops the adults tend to gossip about the latest news, mainly if someone was sick or if a mother had given birth to a child. Nothing fancy. On sweltering days I wore my hair in two braids tucked behind my neck, but otherwise my wavy locks are always down like they are now.
I have to cut off my gaze from the District 2 male and shake my head to get the evil grin out of my mind. There are more disturbing things I've witnessed, and I'm sure the worst will come when the tournament kicks off. Steve had noticed the unknown tribute was spying on me, and hinted that I tell him what was wrong. I didn't say a word.
"Come," Tris encouraged, leaning over to whisper in my ear. "Just smile and wave next time. Then he might get convinced you're an ally."
"An ally?" I said with such confusion as we walked down a long hallway away from the other tributes. I could feel my hips swaying back and forth a lot looser than normally, and my navy blue dress flowed behind me as I trudged on. "Why would I want to be an ally with him?" I asked, exposing my palms to my mentor so she got the message that was corrupting my brain waves.
Tris shrugged and briefly stared up at Steve who was following along on her left. "Who knows? You might last longer."
"Thanks," I muttered, noticing she'd presented me with a 100% chance of failing and dying in these games. My hair is bouncing in my face so I pull it back and tie it in a knot below the end of my scalp.
About three quarters of the way down the narrow corridor we come to a halt before a glass door. However I'm mistaken when Steve's teacher Gus presses a button to reveal an open area for us to step in. It's some formation of traveling platform, as when we step inside and click the button marked "11", we begin to rise as the doors close to secure all four of us in the tight space.
"You'll love it here," Gus says as the elevator brings us up to the floor with our matching Panem district. He broke the silence partially to just start up a conversation and get to know out personalities. "You may even like it more than District 11." He sounded so sure. "I mean, I suppose you'd rather live here than only travel here once and get thrown into The Hunger Games."
"Gus? Tris barged in, raising an eyebrow to get him to be quiet. "You might want to stop talking now..."
"Yeah, I'll shut up. Good point." The shaft went silent for the few floors that remained upwards until we came to a halt and a ding signaled we were there.
Tris and Gus both led the way down a bright white hallway, which seemed to be a bad idea since me and Steve could potentially attack each other at any moment. But he seemed to be saving his energy for the arena, and I didn't plan on picking a fight. I deduced that the doorways on either side of the corridor where far apart from each other, and some were marked with expressions like, Games Managers Only or Technology Ward. I didn't ask what was up with that.
We stopped before a pitch-black door with silver letters nailed right to the center. District 11. That was all it said. I figured they didn't bother to give it a grand title since we weren't going to be sticking around for long.
"And..." Tris paused while blushing as her original plan of revealing the inside of the room was ruined. She fidgeted with the key in the lock and fritted her teeth from the hard time she was having. Gus tapped his foot impatiently on the marble floor and crossed his arms. "She has this problem every year," he explained.
"Ha, yeah." Tris giggled like it was nothing. "Sometimes it takes longer than other years I've done this." She grinned like it was an honor for the door to remain stuck.
"Got it!" she squeaked as it swung open on the hinges. She backed away and ran her smooth hands through the air. "After you," she acknowledged us, and Gus stood aside for me and Steve to step inside.
I think my heart had stopped just then. There was no way in the history of the earth that this scenery could exist right now. I thought I had misjudged it earlier when I was exposed to the crowd at the parade, but now I'm definitely dreaming. Crystal chandeliers, weird chairs with a whole bunch of curves and funky colors, glass floors, a television as large as a small fireplace, and couches made out of stunning leather and molded into perfect shapes. The dining table was set high on a platform above everything else, and the steps seemed to hover in the air and there was no need for a railing to be nailed to the floor. Two beacons lit with magnificent fires stood on either side of the platform connected to the corners, and all the walls were decorated with silver paint that shined in the glorious light of the room. The staircase leading up to the second floor was curved to an extreme and had a 3D structure that made my eyes pop with astonishment.
I even looked over to Steve Rodgers and he's blinking in utter shock. And yet our mentors simply stroll past us like they live here. I know they've done this routine multiple times, but they didn't have to make it such a show.
"So," Tris says, walking by and turning around to show off how modernized the suite had been presented. "As you can see, this is the dining hall. The lounge is just past it over here," she gestured over to the comfy chairs and couches in a square area. The whole outer wall overlooked into the center of the Capitol. The television was placed above a fireplace in a stone column, and as I stood in the doorway I noticed a door directly on my left a step down from the patio we were glued to. I found it odd that it was alone in a corner, but it was nonetheless silver like the rest of the place and had a gold doorknob. A few other doors were stationed on the right wall, and I assumed everything else was upstairs. I overheard our mentors discussing a library earlier, so maybe I could go check out some novels and get my brain off things before the real tournament starts.
"So, let's get you two washed up for dinner. There are some fresh clothes for each of you in your rooms." Gus offered to show the way to Steve's bedroom with his arm and the boys headed off in the direction of the abandoned room in the corner. I got the one on the right, farthest from the entrance in which we had just used.
"Here you are, Hermione," Tris told me, pushing the door open so I could get a view of where I would sleep. "I know it's a queen sized bed. You get all the room in the world to yourself. I say enjoy it." I threw her a look of confusion. "It's squishy," she perked up. "It molds to your skin for an enjoyable sleep."
"Okay…" I said, backing away slowly into the bedroom chamber. "I'm going to dress now cause you're freaking me out." Tris looked appalled and left me to my business.
I saw that there was a freshly laundered pair of pants and a loosely fitted top for me to slip into. The shirt had no sleeves and was a navy blue shade, but the pants were pearl white and didn't grab my attention all that much. I slipped them on anyways and went into the bathroom to fix my appearance.
My hair looks horrendous. Even though it's bushy, and becomes a tangled mess every now and then, I think this is the worst I've ever seen it. But with a comb and brush ready at hand on the sink, I start the tiring process of hacking away at the clumps until it's all divided out again.
No makeup, but I figure I can make do without it. I switch the bathroom lamp off before deciding to join the others for my final meal of the day. I am surprised to find that I'm the second one out to sit at the table, next to Gus.
"Ah. I see our female tribute has made her presence." I stopped in the middle of ascending the stairs to somewhat act bewildered and yet ask with my pupils where to sit at the same moment. Gus took a sip of champagne from his skinny glass before gulping and watching as I made it all the way up to stand firmly on the dining upright platform.
"Ladies sit on this left side," he stated, motioning with his hand so I could take a seat properly.
"And you sit at the end of the table?" I asked, raising my eyebrow to challenge him.
"Yeah. And?" he questioned back. I refused to give a solid reason why. "I tend to get up and walk around during meals," he explained, and I didn't feel slightly foolish as I sat and left a seat next to him for Tris to occupy. "When I lecture about the games, I need to be able to walk in circles. It calms my nerves and helps me to focus."
I pressed my lips together and considered if he was part demented. The awkward moment was broken as Steve came around the corner and Tris came down from the second floor of our complex at the same time.
"And here's tribute number two!" Gus says excitedly. Tris skips over in a short black skirt and a red fitted top, hiking up the short steps to meet us at the top with her high heels boots. They came to rest at her ankle and were a light brown color.
Steve smirked at me before sitting next to his mentor on the far corner across from me. "Alright," Tris begins to explain, "Now's the time for us to discuss what this week will look like. Everything is planned out accordingly with everyone, and you must obey the requirements." She began to spread butter over her crescent roll with a stainless silver knife, and she took a swig of her favorite red wine before giving the lead to Gus.
"Technically," he started up the conversation but coughed, "Today was your first day here in the Capitol, even if you arrived in the afternoon." He went on with his comments and proceeded to let us know the schedule for upcoming events. "Tomorrow begins your training. You'll work over the course of three days to prepare for the games and learn any survival tips you need. On the fourth day, they'll call you in one by one to be tested for individual scores. The higher score you have, the more of a threat you are in the arena."
"Well, I think I'd rather have people afraid of me just so they'd stay away," I remarked, speaking in between eating pieces of my medium cooked steak.
"Don't interrupt," Tris warned, catching my rude tone. "Besides; the point is not to have the highest score. What you really want is a load of allies."
"But then what's the point?" Steve Rodgers had stepped into our discussion. "The more allies we get, it will have no effect. The most it will do is provide us with more time to live. We'll have to die anyway in the end. You know that. Only one can be the champion and be crowned as a victor."
"A champion?" I groped, offended with his choice of words. "You're not a champion if you win. Nobody is. Even if you do win, or mostly in this case survive, you feel no glory because you did it by murdering people."
I heard a sigh come from my left. "Seriously?" my mentor asked, becoming annoyed with our behaviors. "Do we need to consider this now? You have another four or five days till you're dropped in that arena, and you may as well be damned prepared so you actually know what the hell you're doing!" I froze in alarm at her sharp temper and fell silent so Gus could finagle back into the talk somehow.
"Anyways," he spoke up to break the quiet atmosphere, "That will be day four. Later that same day at night, that's when the interviews will take place before the games. That'll be the last thing you do in the Capitol before you're transported to the arena the next day."
"Now, mind you we have no idea how any of these tributes are going to fight. That's your job to find out tomorrow through your training days, cause then you can start a list and get a good idea of who you want to become friends with." Steve looked up from his plate with mashed potatoes and checked in about something with both teachers. "Is it a law that I have to work with her?" he demanded to be told as he pointed his fork at my head.
"Are you saying that because I'm a girl?" I wondered, highly offended.
"No!" Now he sounded taken-aback; like he wanted to rearrange his wording. "I need to know so that we can find out if it's the best method or not." I actually couldn't believe what I was hearing. I thought I had some earwax stuck in there, but no, he was really planning to save my life as best as he could. I blinked twice and glanced up at Gus, who had already attempted to pace back and forth but was failing miserably.
"So. Got any advice?"
All I got was a ruffle of his hair in frustration. "That depends on how well you work together as a team. You can test that in the training room or ignore it and move on. Your choice."
I looked at Rodgers for a comment. I got none so decided to speak up first. "Scratch that?"
"Yeah."
"Yeah," I repeated. I didn't think I would work well with anyone. "I mean, I'll watch you and consider if you'd still be a trustworthy ally," I told him honestly.
"Yeah, sure," he came back, agreeing he would do the same.
"That way if we run into each other we can…move on, I suppose."
"Ha," Tris interfered, chuckling at our ridiculous bond. "The odds of that are very slim. You come across each other in the arena, one of your minds will take over, dominate, and just urge you on to kill the opponent. It's highly unlikely that you'll meet and simply think, 'oh we'll just let it go see you later' type thing," she said sarcastically. Tris Prior overreacted just a bit, but there was absolutely no way to stop her. If you tried, she'd only go on a long rant.
"Whatever. Can we please consider this later?" I ask politely. "I'm not hungry and don't feel like talking about this right now. Please excuse me." I push my chair back and fold the sky-blue napkin that was settled in my lap. I left the three of them to their matters; they could fix any problems and share hints or tips without me. I really wouldn't care.
I flopped onto my mattress so I could just let my skin sink. I felt like I was lying on a cloud and never wanted to get up. I had to get up eventually however and I enjoyed experimenting with the shower. There were a whole bunch of different sized buttons and dials that I pressed just to see what they would do, and I found myself in shock every time a jet of blasting cold water slapped against some section of my body. But the soap smelled of fresh lilac flowers and left my skin feeling smooth to the touch, I even was able to wrap a towel around my hair so it dried out.
Being disgusted by germs and gross tastes, I had to brush my teeth before crawling under the covers in a new pair of silk pajamas. Never in my life had I ever owned a real pair of pajamas. These ones were dark red with a light sewn pattern of stripes. I can't see why the fabric just didn't have the stripes instead.
Somewhere off in the distance through my window I could hear some peaceful instrumental music playing. But the day's crazy and packed full events were crammed in my mind, and the song easily helped me relax and fall into a deep sleep. Little did I know I would be holding a weapon in my hands about twelve hours later.
I was up and dressed thanks to my crew team and Tris, and all because I had to look decent when I went to training that afternoon. To make things simple, I pulled my wavy locks back into two identical braids and tied them on the bottom. I didn't feel like eating because I considered the possibility of throwing up while handling a weapon.
Steve and I were led to a large waiting area before we had to say farewell and head into the training place. Tris raised her eyebrows a few times to give me a signal and collect some allies. On the first day, I didn't think I would get very high on the scale of friendship.
All the rest of the tributes who had arrived earlier were inside the training room, and around us there were 24 cube shaped seats, one for each district tribute. Just beyond in a narrow hallway was the archway into the fighting room, and we were on our own from that moment forwards for the next few hours.
Steve Rodgers and I were both dressed in matching District 11 shirts; short-sleeved, black and pink, with the number 11 engraved into the shoulders right where our arm muscles were. The pants we had been given were cut short just below the knee, and they were made of stretchy material so we could move freely.
As we walked side by side and approached the door, it actually slid sideways for us when we got close enough. It was more of just a panel with bars if you asked me, but it opened up into a large gymnasium sized space with about a dozen stations that would help us to develop skills to use in the games.
We were the third tributes couple to enter the room. Steve and I sat on one of the battle mats and figured out which districts everyone was from. The other four people who were there before us were from Districts 4 and 7. There was a tall boy with trimmed black hair, a girl with flaming red hair that curled near the bottom, a shorter girl with short hair pulled back in a knot, and a really tall red head with messy hair that I kinda fancied. All of them must have been my age except for the blonde (and Steve), because she looked a couple years younger.
I decided to scan my surroundings while the others filed in later. Behind me and up near the ceiling was a balcony where the judges watched us. They were supposed to observe and take notes, as we were tested later, but none of them ever seemed to do such a thing. There was a large closed in glass cage on the right that was used for aiming skills; if you adjusted the settings it would fire strange people at you and they would be your targets. There was another aiming station for shooting at targets on the wall from several yards away, a section used for climbing ropes, a weight training corner, and a place where you could be taught certain camouflage techniques. Of course there were the usual learning to build fires and traps and what not, and in the center of the room was the stack of weapons we could use in the arena.
Swords, knives, spears, axes, shields, you name it. There weren't any guns for various reasons, as I suppose the game makers wanted to make the tournament as thrilling as possible. Gag.
Four new sets of tributes joined us for training; Districts 1, 3, 8, and 10. As I observed the different faces, I thought we had an interesting bunch. Another red head, a twelve-year-old, quite a few eighteen-year-olds, a few brunettes, some blondes, and even one who looked like he had a lightning bolt shaped scar on his forehead.
I counted and believed it took another half an hour before we could start. Gus insisted we be there early, and now we stood in a perfect circle, all 24 of us with our head trainer in the center.
"My name is Tobias," he told us, turning on the spot so he could address us all. The people in the balcony were whispering and gossiping about our habits and body types. "My nickname is Four, so feel free to call me that as well." He got some strange looks for that.
"In two weeks, only one of you will remain in the Capitol. Twenty-three of you will be dead, and Panem will be reminded about the war that happened hundreds of years ago because of our winner this Quarter Quell." I noticed while watching the other fighters in the room that we had various colors on our outfits. Two districts had the same color; they were forest green, dark purple, royal blue, light pink, highlighter yellow, and rusty brick red. We looked like a snazzy rainbow gone dumpster diving. I admit all of the colors fit well with black, but we all just looked stupid standing there.
"You're all worried about you killing each other, but you may also be at risk of dying from natural causes as well. Dehydration, starvation, possible suicide, and others." I grimaced when he said the last descriptive one. Who would commit suicide in the arena? "That's why we're here for the next three days. Over this long time span, you will be evaluated and search for your best skill to use in the Hunger Games. For some of you, you may have more than one talent. For others, you might not have one at all." The girl tribute from District 5 looked down bashfully and drew circles on the floor with her hunting boots. From her fragile face and cheeks, I assumed she was one of the youngest of the pack.
"Oh, and one more thing I should mention. No conflict in this room. Save the fighting it out for the arena." He smirked, trying to attract the attention of some of the flirty girls in the room, but they all seemed to have been replaced with a warrior replica of themselves. No one giggled.
"Alright. Well, let's push you to your limits. You may select any station to begin at. Good luck." We went to split up as he grabbed a sword from the barrel sized container filled with tools.
And before we began with additional instructors, he shouted out for the whole gym to hear. "This is what it feels like to be a winner; prepared, confident, and ready to conquer the games."
I think I saw the hidden evil smirk from the District 6 female competitor that was directed towards me. She even shared it with the boy from District 2. All I could think of was one thing.
They're going to be a dangerous duo.