Chapter 3

Yeah, so, you know how I said last chapter that Nimiane's mom was in the 40th Hunger Games? I meant the 49th….whoops. I'm so terrible. And I'd like to thank crazy-forever for a character in this chapter, so, thanks :D

I like isolation from the world as much as the next guy, but Finnick is getting ridiculous.

We've been in the Capitol for one day. One day. And Finnick decides that, although it is a free day since we got here in the afternoon, we can't go sightseeing. If I'm probably going to die, you'd think he'd want me to die happily. But, nooooo.

Instead he forces us to stay in our rooms all day. Considering they were pretty nice rooms (only the best for the nearly dead, I said when we got here), it wasn't a really bad thing to do, but I was extremely bored. I think Finnick is just trying to torture me with interesting shower settings and such. Or maybe he wanted time to himself. I'm not entirely sure. But I was so not amused that I fell asleep in a matter of hours.

I wake at the sound of knocking on the door. I groan, sit up, and stretch. I rub the sleep out of my eyes, and then look down at my attire. Capitol provided pajamas is decent clothing, right? Whatever, I think. I shout, "Come in!" It's probably Finnick, anyway.

Remington's head peeks around the slightly opened door. "And you want…?" I ask, crossing my arms at the unpleasant surprise. "To talk," he says, shyly.

I give him a death glare, but he isn't affected. He comes in and stands by my bed. "Why are you avoiding interaction with me?" he asks.

"Whatever do you mean?" I sarcastically ask. "Because of Ingrid."

"I'm friends with Ingrid."

"Well, breaking my best friend's heart doesn't go down well in my book, friend or not."

"That was a while ago," he says, scratching the back of his head. "She's put it behind her. You should, too."

"The probability of that is very low, you know."

"And why?" he asks.

"Because I don't like you anyway!" I say, exasperated.

He puts his hands up in front of him. "And why would that be?"

"Because you've had everything handed to you on a silver platter. Your parents haven't worked a day in their lives, all because you come from old money. Girls flock to you. Guys are dying to be your friend. And you don't know what real life is, because you haven't had to live it yet," I say, not looking him in the eye.

He clenches his teeth. "Trust me, I know what life is. You don't know a thing about me, Nimiane. If you would ask Ingrid about me, she would have told you my life story, the ups and the downs." He then walks out without another word.

I close my eyes and hang my head. Don't listen to that guy. Everyone in town knows all of his life, backwards and forwards.

I manage to get out of bed and pull on some capitol-issue clothes: a blue, cotton shirt and a pair of brown pants. I don't bother to find shoes, and instead slip on the softest slippers you have ever worn. If I'm going to receive any sass from Finnick today, I might as well do it while walking on clouds, I think. As for my hair, I pull it up into a messy bun and don't even bother combing it.

I walk into the clean hallway, no trace of Remington in sight. Instant relief engulfs my being. I briskly walk until I reach the elevators, which are basically classier versions of glass test tubes. I press the down button, seeing as I'm on the 43rd floor and I need to go to the 6th. The doors open at my bidding.

The Capitol is really something. Much neater and better to look at than the districts, I might add. Thousands of buildings dot the landscape, and the sun seems to be always shining over them. Each building is painted brightly, and, even from my great height, I can see several murals painted on the walls.

I keep speculating the wonders of the Capitol when the elevator comes to a sudden and unsafe stop. I almost fall on my butt because of the forces exerted on me. The doors open, and I'm momentarily confused, since we're not on the 6th floor, but the 24th. A girl with bright green hair – brighter than the ocean's usual green tint – steps in, running her fingers through her hair. She sees me struggling to stay up and asks, "Are you okay?"

"Just some major gravitational forces working on my fragile body, no big deal," I say, stabilizing my stance.

"Oh, I know. These elevators are terrifying. When I got here, some guy who was obviously from around here wasn't even fazed when we stopped. I fell to the floor," she laughs. "I think I have a bruise."

I laugh too. "I'm Nimiane. Fifteen, District Four."

She extends her hand for a handshake. "Scarlett. Seventeen, District Three." I return the gesture as she adds, "And, no, my hair is not naturally this color."

"I wouldn't have guessed," I say, sarcastically. "What happened? Did you die it or something?"

"Oh, no. I was in a medical experiment. It was supposed to see if this tiny little pill my dad had made would cure a common cold. It did, but one of the side-effects that had to be added to the list was 'dramatic changes of hair color to bright green'." I laugh once again.

"I'm guessing it wasn't an approved drug?" I ask. She says while looking upon the people on the nearing ground, "Well, it could be a really easy way for these Capitol freaks to die their hair, now, isn't it?"

At least I'm socializing, like Finnick said to, I think to myself.

We get down to the 6th floor, and we try out hardest to stay up. I end up being successful, while Scarlett just falls. "That's going to hurt in the morning," she says as she rubs her wounded spot. We both laugh as we walk out of the enclosed elevator and out into the special floor reserved for the Hunger Games.

Several tributes are already seated at the long, narrow table. You can tell that we're supposed to be sitting by district, too, because the four from Districts One and Two are sitting together, then the boy from District 3, who looks just like Scarlett. There are two empty spaces, then Remington. We take our spots. "Who's the cute guy who looks like you," she says, peering at Remington's ashen face.

"Someone who I would not like to talk about right now," I whisper, just soft enough for Remington not to hear me. "We kind of had an argument earlier today. He has it easy, and he hasn't lived, but he thinks he has."

She nods. "Ah. I see your point. Former boyfriend?"

My eyes widen. "Not on my life would we ever date!"

"Just checking," she says, holding her hands up in a universal don't-hurt-me sign.

Finnick walks by and joins the mentors at the head of the table. "Nim," he says, only acknowledging me to be polite. "Finn," I say back.

"I guess you guys don't like each other, too?" Scarlett asks.

"It's a love-hate relationship. He's my brother."

"Finnick Odair is your brother?" she says, her eyes practically popping out of her head. Apparently, she was pretty loud, because everyone is now staring. Including the topic of conversation. When everyone looks away, she barely whispers to me, "I just made people overestimate you, didn't I?"

I nod. "That, you did."

Yaaaaaaay. So, Scarlett was crazy-forever's idea. Props, my friend. And I'm still accepting tribute submissions (just not District Four or District Three's girl. Otherwise, it's all game), so, submit and stuff. Well, these things always have slightly awkward endings, now, don't they?