Drew's POV
Throughout the opening ceremonies, all that was going through my head was Ohgodohgodohgodohgod.
I was sweating like crazy, which made my really comfortable gladiator suit itchy and unpleasant. It seemed like Owen was feeling the say way, as well.
When the thing was over, Scarlett came over to our chariot and congratulated us, saying that most of the population of Panem wouldn't be able to even go through that ceremony with a smile. And, of course, both of us smile.
Being complimented has that affect.
Before I get the chance to leave, which I personally would have rather done due to my outfit, Scarlett drags Finnick freaking Odair over to us, along with his tributes.
"This is Finnick," Scarlett says, "which I'm sure you already know. Finnick, these are my tributes, Drew and Owen."
He holds out his hand for a shake from both of us. "Nice to meet you." He then gestures towards the two standing behind him, both clad in sea-colored formal attire. "This is Wiley and Iris."
We exchange small head nods which Finnick and Scarlett talk about anything and everything. After a bit of that, I get ultimately bored and head towards the buffet tables, everyone else in tow.
Call it short attention span, call it sudden starvation, but I was satisfied with this smart move.
I immediately see a District Three favorite, and one look at Owen reveals that he's seen it too. We rush over to the little, square pieces of bread, placing one after another in our mouths as if we had a bottomless stomach.
Iris and Wiley give us a weird look, which I can understand. They're not from District Three, so the bread seems like nothing. They don't know that our taste buds are practically built to love the salty flavor that comes packaged in each square.
Iris takes some food off of the plate next to the bread, and says, "Looks like our mentors are buddies."
I nod. "Obviously. It's not like they don't have a good reason, though."
"That's true," she says, shrugging. "His sister was her friend, after all…"
"Did you know his sister?" I ask, placing another square of bread in my mouth.
"Did I know her? Yeah. Was I ever friends with her? No."
That makes sense. I mean, there are thousands of people in District Four, like all other districts. I guess you don't know every face you see.
"Did you go to her funeral?" I follow up, although I already knew the answer.
She gets a little apprehensive when answering. "Of course. Every soul in every District went to their respective tributes' burial. I'm sure you went to your guy's funeral."
"I did."
"So did I!" Owen says between bites of bread.
Wiley now speaks up. "There seemed to be some sort of feeling of sorrow among the districts last year, all because of the Hunger Games. If it was like that every year, the Games would have ended long ago and we would be at home, lazing as if nothing matters."
I nod. "Then I wish it was like that every year. We would have overcome the Capitol by now."
"We could always start that this year," Owen says. "We can take down the Capitol if we put the minds of every person in every district to it."
oOo
Scarlett's POV
The first day of training is always hectic. But I'm saying it from the perspective of a former tribute/new mentor.
Let me tell you, being a mentor is twenty times worse.
You have to go around and meet people, you have to go have meetings with other mentors, you have to work out things with sponsors, and the list goes on and on. But that's just the stuff I'm doing without Wiress and Beetee's help.
Let's just say that I haven't seen them in the past twelve hours, and it's freaking me out. How the heck am I supposed to know what to do if they don't tell me? It's not like I'm getting reminders from Capitol slaves that I have to go downstairs every two seconds for yet another gathering!
When I get to my fifth meeting of the day, fresh out of a meeting with potential sponsors, I collapse into a chair and repeatedly bang my head on the hard table in front of me.
"Oh, I know, right?" a random mentor says when walking by.
"That's me every year," another adds.
After a few more seconds of that, I lift up my head and see everyone looking at me with understanding. Finnick sits down next to me, patting my back.
"I know that feeling," he says, getting comfortable in his chair. "It'll never go away, let me tell you."
"Thanks for the reassurance," I mumble, sitting up like everyone else as a Gamemaker comes into the room and sits at the head of the table.
"Let's get down to business," he says, pulling out some papers and passing them around. "These are the rules that your tribute must abide by for the training sessions and the interview. Make sure that you consult them before they get in too deep and become so determined that they won't listen to you, okay?"
Nods travel around the table before the mentor for District Eight, I believe, speaks up. "And if they don't follow the rules…?"
The Gamemaker gives a wicked grin. "Well, why don't we find out?" The mentor doesn't speak for the rest of the meeting.
After going over the rules for tributes, the rules for mentors, the rules for sponsoring, and about seven hundred more things in a period of three hours, the whole meeting is finally over and I can actually process what was said at the beginning of the meeting.
"These people are way too fast-paced," I say to Finnick as we gather our papers and walk out of the meeting room.
"That guy is no exception," Finnick starts. "Rumor has it that he has been hopping from girl to girl while still married to the mother of two of his five children. The three others are unconfirmed, but whatever."
"How do you know?"
"A little birdie told me," he says, being all mysterious by not telling me who.
I hate it when people do that.
"Whatever," I say, brushing off the topic. "Do you know who Drew reminds me of?"
He takes a second to process what I'm saying, then replies, "Nimiane?"
I nod. "You bet. I mean, they both have practically the same personality. Plus, you could tell that Drew was somewhat uncomfortable in your presence, like Nim."
"That's true. Nim always hated it when people would talk to both of us and automatically give me more attention. She hated the comparisons, too."
"Exactly," I say. "They're virtually the same!"
"Wiley kind of reminds me of you, too," he says, steering away from the subject of Nimiane for a moment. "He has the huge family, consisting of all sisters. He isn't the richest guy out there, unlike Remington was. Plus, he already knew Iris before we got here."
I nod. "This year is a lot like last year."
"That it is."
So sorry, my poor children, that I haven't posted lately. It's the tale of a writer of multiple story-writers – or that might just be me.
Hopefully I'll get the next chapter out to you soon… But I'm currently sick so I might just wallow in my disease for a bit before actually even brainstorming what I want to write about next chapter. (You better hope I stick with the first part)
Thanks for reading!
