Eventually, I have been shown to my own private room where there was a very luxurious looking bed and my own bathroom in the smaller adjoining room. I decide to take a shower, since I felt like I could really use one before dinner, as well as a change of clothes. Jeremy was right about something, in comparison with the finery the Capitolites and even the victors wear, these are just rags. Once I undress and step into the shower I see not just a tap to turn for cold or warm water. There are at least twenty or so different buttons to push.
I decide to press a bright green button for fun and I am suddenly sprayed with not just warm water, but there is a foamy light green soap in it with a scent like green apples. So I lather up my hair and scrub every inch of me as much as I can. Then I press the rinse button and a spray of warm water washes away all the soap. After that, I press a white button and what feels like a very light, almost invisible lotion with a very coconutty fragrance is sprayed very gently and lightly from tiny openings all around and all over me, and a silver button, when pressed, detangles and dries my hair so thoroughly that when I touch it is so silky smooth that I don't even need to brush it.
I decide to wear the most comfortable looking black pants that I can find in my wardrobe and an interesting looking golden yellow short-sleeved top. Then I return to the dining and lounge car and take my seat at the table with Jeremy, Henrietta, and Noah.
And in a few minutes the servers come in and place several dishes of food down on the table. There's glazed baked ham and bacon- wrapped grilled steaks for meat, but there's also fillets of what may be salmon or trout in a creamy dill sauce, there's also a fluffy white grain which I happen to know is rice, coming from District Nine. I was just never allowed any of this particular grain for myself before. It appears to have scrambled eggs, bits of pork, peas, and green onions in it to give it some flavor. And there are some kind of crispy fried rolls with a garlicky vegetable meat filling and a sweet and sour orange sauce.
For vegetables, there's fluffy mashed potatoes with green onions in them,
mashed sweet potatoes, buttery corn on the cob, buttered peas, green beans in a light roasted red pepper sauce, and a large bowl of garden salad.
I realize fully only now how hungry I am, and not wanting to miss anything, I decide to try a bit of everything, being careful not to take too much of the richest foods on the table. Much of which will likely end up going to waste and there would be enough leftovers to feed many starving families in poverty back home.
There's always more than enough of everything in the Capitol, more than most of them even know what to do with, if this is an indication of what to expect. What do they even do with their time while they wait eagerly for every Hunger Games? Party? Dance? Drink? Gamble? The districts in contrast basically get the shaft, especially the poorest ones.
And I begin to wonder to myself what would happen if any or even all of the districts, just got fed up with doing all the dirty work. Fed up with all the pain and suffering and bitter losses they are forced to endure to keep the Capitol in comfort and prosperity with precious little to gain in return. Fed up with the Hunger Games, of sending their children off to be killed, of the lack of other freedoms, and human rights.
It would be one hell of an uprising, as Mace would say. It would probably be Snow's worst nightmare.
Jeremy and I tuck into our food (Noah appears to have a real meat tooth, while Henrietta has only taken a bit of the fish with some carrots and salad on the side without dressing ("It's for my waistline.") She tells us.
And for a while, we just sit quietly as we work our way through our dinner, which turns out to be every bit as delicious as it all looks. Christ, if Cassandra, Nathan and Mace could see me now! But then I begin to feel a twinge of homesickness. But I tell myself, stop it Alyssa. You can't afford the luxury of homesickness or to fall to pieces now. You must stay at the top of your game if you want to survive and make it back home.
Once the dinner plates and leftovers are cleared away, Henrietta says to us, "That was wonderful. Now, would any of you like me to call for some dessert?" And I say, "Not right now thank you. I couldn't eat another thing. Maybe later."
Jeremy sneers, "I'm surprised to hear you say that. Course I was surprised to see you even had table manners at all, or any kind of manners, really. God knows those filthy District Nine orphans at the local community home never seem the type. But it will take a lot more than basic politeness if you want to survive the Games, orphan girl."
Wow, stereotypical much Jeremy?
The truth is, that we were all basically expected to learn some degree of being civil in the orphan home, no matter how terrible life there was. And if any of us didn't learn fast enough for Mrs. Briant, we would suffer a beating from Caretaker Grimes, or we would be locked up for one or two days in our rooms. That, she would tell us, would ensure that even the most pathetic of us would let the lessons sink in. That little twerp has no idea what it was like.
Noah comes to my defence. "Now that's enough of that, and slow down, one thing at a time Jeremy. Since no one appears to be hungry for dessert, this is the perfect opportunity to turn on the T.V so you can learn something about the other tributes you'll be going up against."
That's right, I thought. The last six tributes from District Ten, Eleven, and Twelve had been reaped several hours and stops ago. So Noah turned on the T.V. and the first thing that appears is the golden eagle, which is the national symbol of Panem. And then there appears a middle-aged man of short stature and very golden hair tied back in a fancy pigtail. Even his eyebrows are gold. He is the Master of Ceremony in the Capitol, and has been interviewing the tributes of every Hunger Games publicly for twenty-some years.
His name is Caesar Flickerman. He always has his hair in different colours for every Hunger Games. As much as golden hair really isn't Caesar, in my honest opinion, at least he doesn't have red hair and eyebrows like he did the year of Noah's Games. He looked like he was bleeding profusely from the head.
"Good evening. I am Caesar Flickerman, and tonight I will bring you some gathered information on the tributes who will be presented before an adoring public in the Capitol tommorow evening. District One and Two looks to be promising as usual, with this year's crop of careers. From District One, we have Taffeta, age sixteen, and Roland, who is eighteen."
Taffeta and Roland are both blond and beautiful, almost as good looking as the brother and sister victors Cashmere and Gloss, and about as lethal beyond a shadow of a doubt. You almost wouldn't know it though, because of how angelic Taffeta appears before the cameras.
The District Two tributes are as dark-haired and green-eyed as the chosen careers from One are fair and blue-eyed. And they also look more the part of careers, especially the guy, Adonis. The girl, Emerald, looks completely bored, detached from it all, like she's thinking, God, the arena had better turn out to be worth putting up with this televised garbage.
Districts Three, Five, Six, Seven, and Eight aren't quite as memorable, and several of them are definitely looking a bit green and terrified, yet brave all the same. District Ten and Eleven's tributes look strong enough, and I see that sadly, the District Twelve tributes are so skinny as to be malnourished, and unremarkable, forgettable, to be overlooked. I have the feeling that they just aren't going to make it. It seems that those from District Twelve never do, not since Haymitch had won.
But it is the shy girl from District Four that I find it most impossible to forget. I don't think she can be any older than twelve. Her name is Marina, and the boy from Four, Jayden, is fifteen. Many people back home hate it when there's a kid only twelve who gets reaped especially, no matter what district they come from, because they think it's unfair. And I hate it too, I hate the whole thing, but there's nothing anyone can do. And that, for me, is the worst part of it.
The next morning, I am awakened by Henrietta knocking on my bedroom door as she says, "It's time to get up and get ready, breakfast is about to be served. And we will arrive in the Capitol in just two more hours." So I get out of the bed and I get dressed. I don't bother about taking a shower this morning.
Once I'm in the Capitol the first thing that will happen is that I will be placed in the hands of some of the best beauticians in the country, and then I'll have to meet my stylist, whoever it is. He or she will basically decide two things, what kind of costume I'll be wearing for the Tribute Parade tonight, and what my look will have to be for the interviews on the night before we are sent to the arena.
I have just finished my breakfast and I am still sipping from a cup of hot chocolate when I see through one of the train windows a place like I have never seen before. I see tall buildings, several of them at least a hundred stories high or maybe more, elegant mansions here and there, and they almost all seem to shine.
As we finally pull to a stop and disembark at the train station which is so massive and far cleaner than any place in District Nine, there are shouting crowds of people and the press waiting eagerly for us, taking pictures. Asking us a series of questions we don't answer. All of them dressed in the craziest get-ups, with freakishly styled wigs or garish tattoos and hair colours. There is no doubt about it.
This is the Capitol.
