Once we all get over the presenters' treatment of Christian, we turn back to the reapings. The girl from District 5 is walking to the stage. The first thing that strikes me is her resemblance to Coral. They have the same hair and colouring and even features to an extent, but this girl looks a lot more wily than Coral. She looks like she knows what she's doing. I might ally with her if the careers decide I'm completely hopeless (which is true. I wouldn't blame them for a second).
None of the other reapings are particularly special, until we get to the outer districts. The poor boy from District 10 has a limp.
'Well at least I have some chance of an ally with him,' mumbles Christian.
Finnick (who has now joined us) snorts. 'Now, now; Christian, do remember that I won the games when I was your age.'
Christian shoots him a glare that we all wish would be useful for him in the arena. 'That's not making me feel any better.'
The girl from 11 is 12, which is unfortunate. It's always sad watching 12-year-olds die. She has cute siblings too. I make a mental note not to kill her either. Maybe she'll befriend Christian so I have an excuse. The boy from 11 is huge. He could rival the boy from 2. Prospects are not looking good for me. I have written myself a death sentence and it's up to one of the people on this TV to sign it.
Wait…what?! The girl from 12 is a volunteer. That's odd. It appears that she has volunteered for her sister. I guess I would volunteer for Emily, but this girl is from 12. It's even more of a death sentence for her than it is for me.
'Damn,' says Christian. 'She's even more suicidal than you are, Scarlett.'
I give Christian one of my own death glares. 'Thank you for that useful piece of input, little shrimp. Maybe you can advise the careers when we get to the arena.'
Christian snorts. 'If only that honour could be bestowed upon me.'
Grace takes another sip of something that looks alcoholic and drawls: 'So Finnick, what do you think of the tributes?'
Finnick ruffles his hair and sighs. '1 and 2 are exactly as expected, apart from the young one from 2.' He looks at Christian and I. 'Find out why that is. Try and ally with them if you can; they seem your best bet other than the boy from 11, and I have a feeling he's not going to take to kindly to us inner district folks. The girl from 12 is a volunteer, but she looks sullen. She'll definitely be an attention grabber, so stay away from her. She will only outshine you if you're together. The others all look like potential bloodbath kills, but the girl from 5 may have potential for survival skills. Scarlett, you might want to speak to her if you can't get in with the careers.' I nod. 'Christian…just try and stay alive.'
Christian is growing on me. I don't want him to die, but I can't ally with him because he doesn't seem to have any motivation to get through this.
Finnick checks his watch. 'Off to bed now. We're up early in the morning. I'll brief you at breakfast.' Christian makes some sarcastic comment and I skulk off to my room.
I lie in bed and contemplate my situation. I have, on a whim, volunteered myself for a televised fight to the death. My final hours will probably be broadcast to the nation. I'm a fairly average District 4 teenager, and I don't have a hope in hell of winning. I can sort of spear fish (I go every summer with Em and the cousins), but what use is that going to be if the arena turns out to be a frozen wasteland? My family own a restaurant, but what's the likelihood that knowing how to take the poisonous bits out of a puffer fish is going to be necessary?
I give up on sleeping. The bed is too comfortable and I don't like it. I remember that I'm supposed to have a token, so I search through the pockets of my dress (Did I mention that I also bought it for the pockets?) for something of use. The only thing I can find is my set of house keys. I jolt as I realise that I won't need these anymore. Even if I do make it back to 4, they'll set me up in the Victors' Village. The key ring is a gold plated starfish that Melissa (another girl on the swim team) got me for my birthday a couple of years ago. I decide that it should suffice for a token, select my outfit for my Capitol entrance tomorrow (a white shirt that's made out of the same material as Coral's dress and the most naturally coloured pair of trousers I can find) and shove the keyring in the pocket of the trousers. I hang it on the chair and decide that maybe a shower will soothe my frazzled brain.
The shower looks like what I imagine the control panel of a hovercraft to look like. There are a million different buttons. I press a random combination of buttons and, disappointingly, a spray of lukewarm water dribbles out. I bristle and press some different buttons until the water is as steaming hot as I like it and relax for a bit; before I get doused in lavender flavoured soap (which I think is a bit invasive, really. Surely even Capitol people are capable of soaping themselves). It does some funny things to my hair and then I walk out looking like I've just spent the week at a spa.
Strange phenomena these Capitol people have been hiding from us. This is what happens, I suppose, when you have nothing better to do. I lie down in the oddly soft Capitol pyjamas and make up storylines in my head until I finally succumb to sleep.
