Hello everyone, Paradigm of Writing here, with a new chapter in Capitol's Strike. Today, you are witnessing the creation of the first day, dawning the Hunger Games. Some deaths obviously, considering that the Cornucopia is next chapter so, yeah; this may be the last time a few of these characters are shown. I hope you all can enjoy the night, and this is my first day of Spring Break! I have till April 2nd, so ten days of writing everyday! I can't wait! In other news, I just finished Cross Examined, publishing the epilogue last night. That story rounded out to 47 chapters, with an average 96,000 word count. This story may just easily surpass it. I can't wait for you all to start reading the game chapters, because that is when everything gets exciting and drawn out. I think of ending this story at 25 chapters or so, making an average length story of 60,000 words or so. Without, further ado; please enjoy Chapter 12 of Capitol's Strike- Morning Sun and Blood.
Flint Terio: District 2 Male P.O.V
The rest of us onlookers watched in instilled terror and shock as Ammadeus blew on the smoke from his pistol. Haddison Moraltin's body was slumped against the floor, blood trickling down from the crater in his forehead. Our benevolent president just simply brushed his jacket sleeves, and bid us good night. Suddenly, my plate of lasagna was not exactly appetizing. Opal vomited on the spot, all over my black sequin shoes. Eve and Birch stared at each other with dumbfounded shock. The only one who didn't really care was Pablo, who had missed the gunshot, due to being in the restroom at the time of the incident. He paused, when he realized everyone was quiet, and that a pin could be dropped and be heard.
"What?" Pablo asked defensively, waving his plate in the air.
"Err, Pablo, look up at the skywalk." Marie whispered, making her way to her district partner.
We all followed Pablo's gaze up, and then laughed as he screamed. Then, as his breathing depleted back to a normal, steady rate; he scoffed. "Serves him right."
"You don't mean that do you?" Angelina asked, afraid of his answer.
"Of course I mean it," Pablo sneered, placing his plate on the table. "He was extremely rude, and very arrogant. He thought he owned the place. Haddison was not even a human! There was nothing he could do to have made up for what he did about two hours ago. I would of gladly showed the spatula that served the mac n' cheese up his ass!"
Jake cheered, patting the suicidal teen on the back. "Pablo, you are really coming out of your shell aren't you?"
Marie stuttered, taking a step back. "I cannot believe you like this! That man, no matter how awful he was; just got shot and killed in front of all us. You need to have some decency."
"I do have decency," Jake shot back. "It's just that, whenever you insult my livelihood or anyone else's here, I get personal. And, why it should it bother you about death anyway? It's going to happen tomorrow anyway, did you not forget that we are in a game to fight to the death? Blood will be running down my arms before long, and you just might be one of them!"
Pablo's face hardened. "Watch what you say Jake. Just because I think you are a decent human and all, does not mean I will gut you like a fish. Marie is the closest person I have in this world. She will not leave me! I will make sure of it."
Jake scoffed. "Whatever you say, freak." He walked away, not bothering to say good night. Lilianna, his partner's face flustered, and she soon took after him, her heels making clicking sounds against the tile.
The silence that followed was unusual, considering that at a party; the noise never died down. Pablo and Marie departed soon thereafter, not wanting to take more part in the barbaric celebration of Haddison's death. As Pablo passed me, I heard swear words drip from his mouth with ease, and he cursed everything from Ammadeus to Jake and how awful they were. I could not blame him. Tomorrow, I was preparing to send my sword through Mr. Know It All's neck anyway. Jake Quipp would not be the prepared winner he thought he was. It'd be me, and that was final.
The door to the presidential suite in Ammadeus's mansion burst open and Velvet Reque from District 8 flew in. Her velvet dress whipped in the wind of her wake, as she ran past us. She was crying, for I saw the crystalline tears stream down her cheeks. Cranston, her district partner ran in soon after, his hand outstretched. His face was in pure depression, his eyes had a form of pleading. I stopped him, with a gentle push of my hand.
"Let her go," I whisper softly to him. "What happened anyway?"
Cranston was breathing heavily from running. He was going to form an answer when Rye piped up from behind us. "He kissed me in front of his girlfriend. Velvet was his girlfriend." He said simply.
I felt the words rivet through my skull, and put two and two together. Rye and Cranston kissed! So, it wasn't my imagination when I heard Rye ask Cranston to kiss him. My lips parted and I tried to form some stinging words for the male from eight. "How could you," I snap. "You kissed someone else? Why would you do that?"
Rye smiled sneakily. "He came on me. I couldn't resist."
"Not true," Cranston roared, punching the thirteen year-old devil. "You came on me to me! You threatened me. What other choice did I have? I don't even want to be part of your alliance anymore, because of that!"
I raised an eyebrow, this would of been certainly interesting. Should I get Cranston onto my side, I'd have a boy that is monstrous at archery and he'd be able to pick off our enemies, namely Eve and Jake at a distance. None of us, besides Opal were really good at range weapons. Rye was already at an advantage; due to having Rose and Birch from seven, the axe wielding tyrants; Jake and Mako the two hand-to-hand combat monsters, and Eve; the cold, calculative girl who could outsmart even Jerald. It would be quite a game changer if one of them was to not win the games. Then there were a few loop holes like Ryder from three, or Ford from six. What would they do? Both of them had some distinct skills, Ryder was an axe man, and Ford was the fastest tribute here. Ford wouldn't go anywhere without his partner, Angelina who looked as if she had more promise than she showed. Ryder would more than likely desert his partner because Ellen was a hopeless cause without much time for recovery. Then there was the oddball couple from eleven.
Culliver Vaniz scored an eleven, which is quite an impressive score; considering he had collapsed three days ago in the training center. He was sharper than dull and he always found a way to get under his district partner's skin. Violet Knie was the exact opposite of Culliver. She was witty, yet brute and did not care who she stepped on. Both of them had butted heads since the first day, when we all were gathered in the training room. Violet had a real problem when he asked to join our alliance, and we all laughed at him because he was the one who had just epically failed moments before. She would not drop the fact that he was just making decisions for the heck of it. When he outscored her in the private sessions, I nearly doubled over laughing. That sure showed the wicked crow from district eleven.
Rye and Cranston were getting into an altercation in front of me while I worked my mind, and since I didn't want anyone dead till tomorrow, I placed my hand between them, holding both infuriated males back. "Whoa. Calm down, you two."
"Tell him to change the story he is creating," Cranston snarled. "Then maybe I'll reconsider sending an arrow between his eyes!"
Rye chuckled, thinking Cranston was joking. I didn't think so, because Cranston's tone, his face and his demeanor showed otherwise. "I would dodge that arrow and garrote you before I'd die by your hands."
"You challenging me?" Cranston asked in disbelief.
"Yeah. You up for it?" Rye agreed, giving him a toothy grin.
"I accept it. I'll see you as enemies tomorrow, Henderson. Mark my words, you'll be dead before this is over." Cranston hissed, twirling on his heel and walking away. Rye did the same thing, with a cackle. And you have poor me, all alone; wondering on what the hell just happened.
Jerald Donnor: Head Gamemaker P.O.V
Jerald was waiting for Ammadeus inside their little hideout. His tie was undone, tossed on the table carelessly, his shirt unbuttoned and trussed up; messily. A glass of wine was on the little desk next to him, and he took sips every few moments. Thoughts juggled throughout his mind, and he contemplated his life. When Ammadeus opened the door, Jerald sat up; drowning all of his wine in one swift gulp. Ammadeus's hair was tousled and greasy, the couture look being non-existent. Jerald laid the law down without warning.
"You look awful! What happened to you?" Jerald asked, checking his watch.
Ammadeus plopped next to the Head Gamemaker, exhausted. "Just got done with murdering Haddison."
Jerald laughed, thinking that the president was joking. "You joking," Ammadeus's expression said otherwise. Jerald's grin faded. "You are serious aren't you? Our interviewer is dead?"
The president of Panem nodded his head sullenly, as he went for the bottle of wine. "Yes. In front of all of our darling tributes. The interviews were meant for the Capitol to see how our tributes fared throughout the week and how their life was back home. He ruined it, trying to steal center stage. I was not having it! These games were meant for entertainment by death and blood. Not some Capitolite squandering around a stage and insulting the prime time show! The tributes were expecting a simple night, full of ease and less tense moments. It was so they could relax before the monstrous games tomorrow. For some of them, tonight was to be the last night they'd ever get to see anyone else, but their killer! I wanted them to have the time of their life, so it would be the greatest memory of their young, idiotic lives. Now, even that was ruined."
Jerald was silent, pausing for momentarily to consider his response. "You do realize that Haddison, all along was just trying to get the tributes blood boiled so tomorrow, when they're in the arena they already have the instinct to kill whoever pissed them off during the brief time spent here. He was just adding smoke to the fire, and it worked. Unfortunately for him, you didn't specify the exact criteria that followed with his performance. That's all it was. Just a performance."
"You don't see it how I do, Jerald. I want these games to be a legacy. So, whoever I fill in for Mr. Moraltin's shoes, will more than likely think that it is okay to rage quit on our tributes. Each of them was being prepared for slaughter tonight. Some of it was acceptable, like Opal Swener because of how misleading she was to us."
"It was one point that she missed the mark by," the Head Gamemaker cut in. "It's not as if she got a three instead of an eleven. She is still a threat to consider in these games, Ammadeus. Pablo Woed, the kid I kind of saved during private sessions cannot be marked out either. They really were the only two ridiculed last night, and Flint just lashed out in repercussion. I can bet my salary, that Opal asked Flint to give our interviewer hell. It must've worked pretty well, when Haddison was speechless."
Ammadeus stood. "I really am not in the mood to debacle after this. My night has been ruined. I've had to kill my closest friend, and now I have my closest ally harping down my throat. I am off to bed. Since I expect you to be up earlier up than me tomorrow, get my at nine. We'll need to prepare the arena with the final touches before the games start at one."
As the president stood to leave, Jerald made one more remark. "Mr. President, I know you do not appreciate with what's happened over this week. I however, cannot leave to disappoint. Tomorrow, history will be made. You can count on that."
Wake Pladto: District 4 Male P.O.V
I do not remember the rest of the night. I believe Pearl and I got drunk as f*** and then had to have Opal and Diamond help us get ourselves to our dorm. Flint had a drunk kiss with Rust, both of them so buzzed, they almost couldn't stand. Opal and Diamond were the only two who did not drink. Opal was fourteen and really never wanted to experience the delightful taste of alcohol just yet. I told her she might never get the chance to after tonight. She never really seemed much as a partier. Diamond was Catholic, so it was morally wrong in her religion to drink under the age of sixteen. Too bad her birthday is two weeks from today. She is only fifteen and I could tell she yearned to have a morsel of the glorious drink. In fact, if I recall correctly; every one that was not twelve-fifteen was either drunk on beer, wine, laughter, or just really hyped up. It was a pleasant change from the tense moments that happened a lot here in the Capitol.
My sleep went faster than I could recover, because a resonating alarm was buzzing through my ear drum at nine o' clock sharp. I groaned, kicking my sheets off. I knew that blood would cover my wrists later today, following the chilling gong of the cornucopia. As I dressed myself into a pair of jeans in the dresser, and put a shirt on; there was a gentle tap on my door.
"Enter." My gruff voice resonated throughout the room.
The door opened to some Capitolite standing in front of me. I could not tell if the woman was six, twenty, twenty-six, sixty, or sixty-two. She was ageless, in a bad way. The woman's fuchsia hair was in a gigantic bun and her eyelashes were longer than her fingernails. Any time she blinked, it was is if butterfly wings decorated with jewels fluttered around her face. Two emerald eyes poked out from a powdered face, and the gloss of sunset lipstick.
"Hello, Mr. Pladto! My name is Decorate Winslet, and I am going to be your escort to the arena!" the lady exploded in glee.
I had to bite my tongue from to not laugh. This woman's name was Decorate, which was an action to spiffy up a room with color or items that showcased the inner beauty of an object, room, or person. As it being used as a name, was preposterous. I could not form a sentence to the woman, so instead I firmly shook her hand, trying to smile as pleasantly as I could.
"That's great." I said, with fakery.
"You'll need to change once we get there, Wake. That outfit will not be suitable in the arena." Decorate chided.
I frowned. "What's wrong with this outfit?"
"The arena is not going to be indoors, Mr. Pladto. It's outside, with rain and insects. You'd be living in some horrid conditions with that get up. Luckily, Mr. Ammadeus issued a uniform you all have to wear. You'll see it when we get to the Launching Pad."
"Launching Pad?"
"All will be explained in time dear boy. Come on, let's get you to the arena." Decorate guided me.
We exited the building and I gave one last solemn look at the massive structure that housed me for this precarious week. It will more than likely be the last time I'd ever see it. I hope Pearl had a more pleasant morning than I did. A small, midnight chopper was waiting for me, because my name in white spray-paint lined the head of the helicopter. Decorate led me up three solemn steps and sat me down on a solidary seat. Some woman in a white lab coat, with ash speckled glasses came over to me, with a needle. I panicked, fear shooting through my body.
"Relax. This is just your tracker. This is so no one is lost in the games and we can track your progress throughout the arena. I swear, it will hurt little." the woman chided, sending the needle into the section of my arm when the forearm and shoulder connected.
The pain was stinging and if I brushed over the spot where she injected me, I'd feel a lump where the metallic piece motioned my every move. What was haunting was that the tracker blinked a silverish glow. Should anyone ever see this through the darkness, that tribute would be dead in seconds thereafter. Not exactly the best plan, either.
The windows of the chopper darkened, so I'd assume it meant that the arena, wherever it would be was getting close. I breathed, and closed my eyes, waiting for the unbearable ride to be over.
When the chopper landed, Decorate led me out of the chopper and into a desolate hallway. Two other doors lined my side, Ford Messing and Eve Gladius's names being written on the ivory plaque. So, I assumed, that these two tributes would be on my left and right whenever I entered. Decorate opened the door, and shut it once I placed my body three steps into the holding room. As I observed my surroundings, Decorate went into a closet and gave me a hanger. I frowned.
"Change into this. It's your arena uniform." Decorate explained.
I nodded, and slipped behind a curtain to change. Instead of my jeans and T-shirt that I was planning on wearing, I was now in a flimsy, silky, gray jumpsuit, with my district number and name on the back. The flaps at the forearm, had holes in them. My pants were of nylon material, and had a cerulean stripe down the middle of it, representing the ocean. We had normal tennis shoes, and mine had my two favorite colors wrapped into one. Streaks of crimson, and violet rebounded over each other, to make a stylish decoration. I stepped out from behind the curtain and turned around for Decorate to see what she thought.
She squealed and clasped her hands together. "My, my. You look adorable and fierce at the same time, Wake! Be the 17 year-old monster you are."
All we had to do left was wait till one, when I would be announced to enter this tube that would lift me up into the arena. I sat on the meta bench that lined the wall. I declined food, but accepted a chilling glass of water. I twiddled with my thumbs, and heard Decorate gush about Ammadeus. I would of shot myself had she gone on one more minute. I felt saved when Jerald's voice came in through a speaker above us.
"Tributes, please enter your tubes and wait for thirty seconds to launch." Jerald's automotive voice droned.
I stood and turned to Decorate. She threw her arms around me. "You'll be fine, Pladto. Trust me. I've put a bet on you. You'll be fine." She whispered into my ear.
I turned around bravely, and stood on the metal disc. A see-through, glass cylinder slid it's way around me. Decorate stepped up to the cylinder and pressed her palm against it. She mouthed 'good luck' and stepped back. I felt the cylinder rise and I looked up, ready to accept my fate.
Joke is on you President Ammadeus. Let the Games begin.
Well that was chapter 12, Morning Sun and Blood! I hope you got to see the emotions behind Flint and Wake and their stories. Rye and Cranston are at each other's throats, Pablo threatened Jake and shit just happened. I am doing a double-post, the cornucopia being posted as well with this chapter. I wish all of my tributes good luck. Love you all! P.S- Please answer the poll on my profile about your favorite story on my profile.
~Paradigm of Writing
