Chapter 4:
Predator
The bottom floor of the Remake Center is a big stable, where twelve teams of horses are compiled to pull chariots with the tributes.
The District 8 horses are a strange grey color that almost seems blue, with peppered black and white.
I noticed the mentor from 4 swiping some of the sugar cubes that they feed the horses, so I did the same. I'm sucking on one when Moore walks up behind me. "You look good." he says "Better than me, anyway."
Moore is wearing a classic District 8 Opening ceremonies outfit. A dozen bizarre Capitol trends are rolled into one outfit.
I like my outfit. The dress is actually simple. Knee-length, straps that cover my shoulders, just made of different fabrics and colors. Even my shoes, wedged sandals, are covered in fabric. There's fabric weaved into my hair, which is in an elaborate up-do, and I have a large denim bracelet covering my right forearm.
"No," I say sarcastically "I love your headdress." I swat a silk feather that's dangling from his hat out of his face. "It's great, really. Sugar cube?"
"Sure." says Moore. I give him a sugar cube and for the next minute or so, we both giggle stupidly. It's bizarre, really. Maybe the pressure is starting to crack us up.
"Bubble's staring at you." Moore says.
"How? Jealousy? Caring? Or murder?" I ask casually.
"Definitely murder. Though the other 1's-" (he may have meant 'the other one's') "-staring at you too."
"How?" I ask, confused by this one.
Moore considers for a moment. "Predatory," he decides "But he was staring at the little girl from 11 earlier, so I think he might have some other problems…" he trails off uncomfortably.
I give a legitimate shudder. "Hope I never have to face him off in the Arena." I immediately straighten up, berating myself for this moment of weakness.
"I know you, Denim." says Moore "You don't have to be so defensive."
"I've eaten at the same table as you twice." I snap "That isn't knowing me."
Moore rolls his eyes good-naturedly before Zackar and Moore's stylist rush over and direct us onto our chariot. They spend a minute or so getting us to stand in a particular way.
"Smile and wave." says Zackar.
"And blow kisses!" says Moore's stylist. She's dead white with bright pink hair.
"I'm not doing that." I say flatly.
Then I hear the opening music. It's blasting, but slightly muffled by the fact we're still indoors. Then, two giant doors in front of 1's chariot open, revealing the City Circle. The street is packed with screaming citizens who all can't wait to see us brutishly murdered.
"Are you okay?" says Moore as 1's snow white horses pull them away.
"Fine, why?"
"I don't know, you just look a bit pale."
"Oh, don't worry," I respond airily "I'm just thinking about murder."
The space between 1's chariot and our own leaving the stables passes with unsettling speed. Soon, we're watching the love birds from 7 (who are dressed as trees, as usual) roll out, and we're next.
I grit my teeth, practicing my usually nonexistent smile. I think I've forgotten how to do it properly.
"Just don't show any teeth." advises Moore. "Try to look shy."
I shrug. That'll probably be best.
Our chariot begins moving. I smile (ish) and wave a bit. A catch a look on the big screen and see that I do look really pretty. In fact, when the camera is on our chariot they seem to be making an effort to focus on me, and not Moore, who's practically an eyesore.
Our chariot makes a loop of the City Circle, then stops in front of President Snow(I'd like to murder him)'s mansion. We wait for a bit for the other four districts, then the music ends and President Snow walks out onto the balcony. He's a very small, thin man with paper white hair. He has the impression of someone who could fall apart with one cough. Not the type of person you'd expect to be sending twenty-three and a half kids to their death every year.
He gives the official welcome, which is just as boring as the Treaty of Treason right before the Reaping.
After he's done, the Capitol anthem plays, the chariots go around the City Circle again, then into the Training Center, which will be our home (I prefer to think of it as a prison) until the Games begin.
We're immediately surrounded by our stylists, prep teams, and Cecelia, who are all talking about how great we did.
"Good job, kid." says Moore, giving a genuine smile and pulling a strand of cotton out of my hair, which causes a large lock to fall out of the elaborate hairstyle and onto my back. A few of the prep team members shoot him dirty looks, but I snort and yank the fabric from his hand.
"Good job!" squeals Queenie, rushing over to us.
"Oh, you're still here?" I mutter.
Queenie 'tsk's me, then leads Moore and I to an elevator. It's beautiful, really. Made of crystal, so you can watch the people shrink as you go up.
We end up in an elevator with the young kids from 11, who are wearing tight brown outfits that cover their entire body except for their heads. There's actual fruit and vegetables dangling from them. Agriculture.
"Can I have one of those?" I ask the girl, pointing at a strawberry. She's as small as me, with light brown skin, big doe-eyes and pretty, curly hair. I remember she has the same last name as the boy, but I still think that they're cousins, because despite the fact that they have similar faces, he's very pale.
"Sure." she replies, plucking one from her forearm and handing it to me.
"Really?" says Moore, looking amused.
"I had them for lunch, they're good!" I exclaim. I turn back to the girl. "What's your name?"
"Peach." she says shyly, obviously not have been expecting a real conversation to crop up. However, before one can really occur, the elevator stops at the eighth floor and Moore and I get off.
"I like her." I declare when the doors close.
"Well, good for you. She's gonna die." says Tulle from across the room. She knocks back a glass of some sort of alcohol. "You should go check on your kids." she adds to the two sitting across from her. One's the only victor from 12, the one that's always drunk. I think the other's from 11, and he only has half of one of his arms.
Both of the men take their respective bottles and go to the elevator, washing me with the smell of alcohol.
"They seem great." I mutter.
The District 8 floor is enormous. It's ridiculous. It's all plush and fluffy and breakable and colorful. Then Queenie takes me to my room, which is bigger than mine and Rosemary's apartment back home.
There are too many buttons, as well. I doubt I would be able to press them all even if I had my whole life in front of me. I take a shower, which involves hundreds of buttons that each activate a different soap or jet or whatever. Then when I'm done, there's a fan that dries me and some sort of box that sends up a current that dries and untangles my hair. I can apparently program my closet to pick an outfit that's to my taste. The clothes all fit me this time. The windows can zoom in and out on different parts of the city, so I spend some time examining all the idiots.
I see a menu that has about every type of food imaginable, and I'm about to order something when Queenie knocks on the door and tells me it's time for dinner.
Zackar is pointing out different parts of the city to Moore from a balcony, Tulle is pouring herself some wine, and Cecelia is devouring some bizarre looking food, which only adds to my pregnancy suspicion.
As soon as everybody sits down and the Capitol attendants start bringing out food, Moore tells Tulle "Denim threw a knife at the District 1 girl."
"Denim!" says Queenie, looking scandalized.
"Traitor." I mutter.
"You realize that was your one secret weapon and now you've lost it?" says Tulle without expression.
"I covered for her." says Moore. "Made it seem like it was a lucky shot."
"Stop being nice to me." I say.
"Normal people like friends." teased Moore.
"You're not my friend."
"Stop it." snaps Tulle "You're going to be killing each other next week, we don't need this."
"He started it." I say childishly.
"And I'm finishing it." growls Tulle. "Stop it. Now."
Moore and I glance at each other and we can't help but dissolve into uncontrollable giggles. Again, I think the Games are starting to crack us up.
Queenie seems relieved that we're acting like normal children, but Tulle is still glaring at us. Cecelia whispers something to her, and she doesn't pester us for the rest of dinner.
We watch the recap of the Opening Ceremonies. As usual, the kids from 1 in their shiny outfits (District 1 is luxury) make quite an impression. The commentators note that the couple from 7 is holding hands, and one of them says "Oh, I have a note here that says they're married."
Nailed it.
I look pretty, and they say something about it, along with a few words about my parents, and that they think I'll make an alliance with the 7s. Doubtful.
The kids from 9 also make a good impression. Their stylists actually got creative this year. They're both wearing shimmering gold outfits, which I think is a better interpretation of the grain district than dressing them as a loaf of bread.
The kids from 11 are holding hands. "Oh, I have a note here that says they're cousins."
Nailed it again.
This year, the poor kids from 12 are butt naked and covered in black dust. At least they have some points for originality, even if they won't get any sponsors.
When the Capitol seal closes up the show, Moore says "Where's Cecelia?" I look up and realize that both she and Queenie are gone.
"Arranging sponsors for you. She and Queenie have been getting calls all day." says Tulle.
Moore looks away, almost a little bashfully, so I say "What did you expect? You're built like a bear."
Moore snorts. "I shouldn't be getting sponsors, you should. You throw knives."
"And I'm also a little girl." I reply "I've got to prove myself first."
There doesn't seem to be anything else to do, so I say "I'm going to bed."
I get up and go to my room. My closet spews out some silk pajamas and I find a thing that braids my hair for me. Are these luxury objects? Or technology? I want to say technology, because I doubt the idiots from 1 could build these things.
Just as I'm about to crawl into bed, my door opens. It's Tulle.
"What?" I snap.
She purses her lips, looking determinately away from me. Finally, she throws me something. I catch it. It's a tape labeled 55HG.
"Your parents' Games." says Tulle. "You can watch it if you want."
With that, she walks away, closing the door behind her.
I look down at the tape in my hands. My parents' Games. I don't know much about it. Just that someone from 1 was the victor that year. Bubble's aunt, I suppose.
I could've watched if I wanted to. We have televisions back in 8. Because we have factories, our electricity is more reliable than some of the other districts. I could turn on the TV, there's always an old Hunger Games playing. I could've found it if I looked hard enough.
But here it is in my hand. I can watch the full Games on one of the clear Capitol televisions.
I'm not sure if I want to.
I peek my head out the door. There's nobody out there. I take a deep breath, then make up my mind and step outside.
Author's Note:
Review, review, review please! I'll give you kisses! (The Hershey's kind.)