Water. It's more than a natural substance in our district; it's a way of life. We base our year around the tides of the ocean, their constant swells and falls; and of course, the bounty that it offers. But of all the forms it takes, rain is most fascinating to me. I am mesmerised by the ability of the sky to be so open, letting us humans view all of her emotions. I often thought of it as an infinite ocean, one of the last mysteries a boy from district 4 can dwell on.
As the train zips along the tracks, each second taking us close and closer toward Capitol, the sky treats us to a spectacular show of rain, thunder and lightning. I sit at one end of a plush purple couch, at the the other end: her, silent, looking directly out of the opposite window. We had sat like this, unchanged for 15 minutes when suddenly our district representative, Gwen Harpie steps out of one of the many rooms down a long hall, looking extremely frazzled as she approaches us.
"Oliva, Finnick" she greets us, shaking our hands. "Sorry we've had a minor mishap with one of the stylists, Jannis. Opiate addict, she rolls her eyes, "poor fellow." Anyways, we've been sent a newcomer, I was worried at first, but I've been assured she's the absolute best."
She just stares blankly at Gwen, the information washing over her, being of little interest. I instead, perk up, "Oh, Gwen, so when do we meet our stylists?"
Looking at me, with those two same pink patches returning on her cheeks, Gwen replies, "they should be out right about..."
As if on cue, two stylists step out of another compartment. One male and a female, both are the epitome of Capitol fashion, dyed skin and hair, bright unusual clothing and on one of them, luminescent tattoos. They nod at Gwen and turn to look at their tributes, or, more correctly, models for this year's games.
"Oooh, great batch this year Gwen!" the male exclaims eying her hair with great excitement. He offers his hand to us both before, taking her by the arm and leading her briskly down the hallway.
Once the pair had departed, the female just stands blinking at me, intrigued. Gwen, clearly feeling the tension, motions me to stand up. I'm a clear 3 feet taller than my stylist.
"Finnick, Gwen begins, "this is Fleur, she's new." I offer my hand to her, Fleur instead whips out a small tape measure and starts measuring my arm and hand span.
"Excellent, says Gwen, "now if you want to make your way toward your room..." Fleur speeds off and I follow her into one of the many rooms of the train. Upon entering the room, I am met by two other Capitol women, who immediately descend on my and start making observations. "A strong arm, that will be useful... Lovely eyes, like the sea... his hands, perfect fingers... Oh look Cleo!" My shirt is lifted up, and both giggle excitedly at my toned muscles.
"Girls!" a voice snaps, and my shirt falls down. Fleur emerges from behind a desk, looking at best, strained. "Please, do your job, quickly, I have much to work on." Waving her had to dismiss us, I am led into another room and told to undress. As I oblige, the women giggle again, and I wink at them. I could really play this angle, noting the effect of such small actions.
For the next hour my entire body is washed, shaved, plucked and examined by the Capitol workers, who inform me they are my 'prep team.' They work quickly and efficiently, and upon finishing dress me in a light blue tunic, fawn trousers and boots. I am then left in the first room, opposite Fleur's unoccupied desk.
Fleur bursts through one of the doors, and nods at me. I can tell she means business. "Mr Odair, she begins curtly, "I am your stylist. I am here to, at the least, make you appealing to the crowd."
I smile confidently, assuming a haughty air. "Surely not only with clothes..." I drawl.
Fleur scowls, wrinkles appearing on her tattooed brow. "The persona you assume will not be up to only me, but you must remember, clothes have a lasting influence, she interjects. "Though I will be the first to admit you do have a certain, physical advantage, in winning over sponsors."
I laugh. Don't I know it.
"Now, Jannis drew up some preliminary designs for your opening ceremony outfit," she continues pulling out a small board with sketches all over it. Inspecting them, I see a boy wearing fish scales, clad in rope and fish hooks, in another he is in a net, and emerging from his... wait is that a dolphin? I lean closer, eyes furrowing in what must look like concentration to Fleur, but is in fact disgust. Oh god, please no.
"I, ergh..."
"However," she interjects, "I have decided instead to...
Suddenly, there is a sharp knock on the door as Gwen enters.
"Finnick? Your mentor is outside, they would like to talk to you."
"Okay, Mr Odair. Although I hate to admit it, your mentor is slightly more key to your Games than myself." Fleur dismisses me with a nod. I almost jump out of my chair to escape her and what maniacal designs she has in store for me. Hopefully they were nothing worse than emerging from the mouth of a dead dolphin.
I had met most of the potential mentors in tribute training, as all had been careers themselves; however I was eager to find out who they had selected to be mentor this year. "Please, someone with a brain," I say under my breath before entering the main room of the train, where the purple couch sits.
Looking up, I am almost forced to fall into the chair standing next to me. Before me stands Maggie Bryant, the oldest mentor alive in our district. Victor of the 11th Hunger Games, Maggie had been one of the first Career tributes trained in the district. Volunteering in place of a small 12 year old girl, the well-build 16 year old was both physically and mentally prepared for what had been displayed in the games so far. Maggie soared through training with an even eleven, equal for first to another Career tribute from district 1. The arena, primarily rocky highlands, presented a challenge to her, but she soon was able to find her feet once she came into a decent set of spears, her weapon of choice, upon a dead tribute. One week and five quick and decisive kills later, she was victorious. Maggie Bryant. Old and tough as nuts, but the smartest victor district 4 has ever had.
I break into a smile "Great to see you Maggie."
She smiles back and grips my hand, "Finnick, call me Mags, please." During our exchange, someone enters the room. As I step back from Mags and catch sight of her, I am left speechless.
Wearing nothing by a simply blue dress and matching sandals, her flowing blonde hair down to her waist, she is the very image of beautiful.
I raise an eyebrow at her and I can't help but smile, with approval? Or malice? I don't know, and neither does she as her only response is to stare back at me, the same blank eyes as before.
"Oliva, nice to meet you, Mags steps forward, "I'm Mags, your mentor."
"Nice to finally meet you," her melodious voice echoes around the room.
Mags turns to the couch and beckons us to both sit on it, she takes the large armchair sitting to the left.
"Now, kids, you'll be pleased to hear I'm not your only mentor. Zane's meeting us in the Capitol, he's been on... eherm, business." I feel Oliva shift uncomfortably next to me and I restrain myself from doing the same. Pleased? Zane Kirk, after winning at the age of 18, six years ago, devoted his time to gambling and womanising in the Capitol. However, whenever he was home, he was always in the company of a new girl, some as young as Oliva.
Mags continues, "we're going to work on a lot of publicity stuff over the next few days. We need to make you two as appealing as possible to the audience." I notice a twinkle in her eye, "Sponsors guys. They will be your lifeline in the arena. The more charismatic and attractive you are, the more I can help you. But it seems this year I've been given an easy job." Mags sits back and chuckles.
I can't help it, I smirk at her remark. "Only for you, Mags," I remark.
Mags goes to reply, but Gwen interrupts, entering from a room off the long hallway in a new outfit, equal, if not more visually shocking than her first.
"Hello team!" she beams, as though having the time of her life. Her eyes find Mags halfway between talking, and my chuckling and then her face drops. "Did I interrupt anything?" she inquires.
"No, Gwen not at all." I answer, shooting Mags a smile.
"Well, that's good" Gwen comments, returning to her positive attitude. "There a replaying of all the Reapings on the television in about 10 minutes. I thought it might be useful for you both to watch," she continues, looking at her and then myself. We both agree and all four of us settle down whilst food is brought in to sit on a small table in front of us.
Starting with district 1, we watch how the day unfolded for our competitors, and I made mental notes of people to watch. The four tributes from districts 1 and 2, all volunteers, and evidently all Careers; a small, agile looking girl from district 9, and her twin brother who volunteered; and a quite largish boy from district 12, who looks about 18. When district 4's is shown, unusually last, I am surprised to see myself on television without a shirt on. The morning feels like it was in another lifetime. My mind recounts my adventure with Fern, and my decision not to volunteer. It seems fate had a different plan in mind. Afterward, the commentator runs through the list again, I count, 24 tributes; 23 people between me and home. With a few closing comments (one which embarrassing includes my naked chest from the Reaping) the television turns blank.
Gwen doesn't miss a heartbeat.
"I hope you're both made some mental notes of the competition," she beams, "we'll be arriving in Capitol around midday tomorrow, at nightfall the official parade will mark the official opening of the games. The next day, your 3 days of training begin."
I nod, determined. Training was one thing which I had always succeeded in, accelerating at a much faster pace than those of my age in career training. She instead makes a small hiccupping noise.
Looking pleased, Gwen bids us all goodnight and exits the main longue, leaving us both in the company of old Mags.
Expecting a long night of tactical discussions and small mental training exercises, I rub my aching eyes and shake my sagging shoulders. However Mags surprises me when she instead sternly says "Right, bed, for both of you. You've had a long day, go sleep it off." My mind cries in relief. She looks about as pleased as someone that their district has been flattened; Distraught, desperate. I see tears forming in the corners of her deep green eyes; but before I can react, she abruptly turns and walks off to her room.
Mags shakes her head. "She's going to need something to sleep that one, you're alright aren't you boy?" She smiles at me, trying to mask her pity, but it seeps right through her lie.
"I'm fine Mags, promise," I reply, and I turn and follow her down the long hallway.
I hear Mags pull out a chair and drop her aging body down. "Another year..." she sighs. I just faintly hear her words before I turn into what I suppose is my room. Lifting my head, my mouth falls open in surprise, yet I make no sound. Remaining silent, I slip out of the room and into the opposite, which, I note, has the plaque "District 4 male tribute" on the front.
It's only after I bury my head into the multitude of pillows on my bed that I dare think about what I had seen. I small smile emerges over my lips as I remember the curve of her back, the shape of her breasts and her slender legs. She was beautiful, no doubt, and yet for me to get home Oliva was going to have to die.
Author's Note: Sorry it's been ages! Now I planned to have at least 2 or so more chapters before the games start but i really really want to get to them already (and I suppose you guys do to) so next chapter might be big and full of things. We'll see how I go. But I promise the wait will not be that long! Thanks for sticking with me. PS - Please leave a review! I'd love to hear your comments and questions!