Cadman's the one to break the silence after the final tributes from twelve are replaced by the Capitol seal. "So that's it?" he asks, "Those are all the other tributes?"
Woof nods at him. "Well then that's that. Should we start to talk alliances now or wait until we start training?"
"You should really wait," Cecelia pipes in as she draws an arm around my shoulder, trying to include me in their conversation, "Unless there's someone you feel particularly for or against there's no point in picking until you meet them."
"Right," Cadman nods and his gaze drifts back towards the seal, slowly fading as the skyline comes back up in front of us.
After a quiet moment, Villard bursts in through the double doors at the back of the room. He seems more in his element as he does a half skip, half saunter over to us. "Your stylists are waiting outside, they want to get a good look at you before tomorrow."
Cecelia rises and turns to us. "How about we meet them over dinner? Who's hungry?"
I follow her lead, helping Woof out of the couch. An attendant hits a button on the wall and it slides open, revealing a neatly set dining room. Two people are sitting opposite each other, sipping a deep red liquid out of long, fragile looking glasses. When we enter they both turn their heads and greet us.
"Angora! Cadman! Welcome!" The man raises his glass to us, an almost too wide smile stretching across his face. Everything about him seems to be exaggerated, like a doll stitched by unskilled hands. His eyes I think are the most unnerving part; they're a vivid blue but about twice the size eyes are meant to be. They flick between each of us as we step into the room.
"Please sit down! We're afraid we started a little ahead of you but there's plenty of time to catch up!" The woman giggles and I'm glad to see she's a bit more normal looking than her partner. Her hair is sheared close to her head, a style that was popular back home a few years back. Up her neck I can see black curls etched into her skin, tattoos I think they're called. They weave from the behind her back up along the edges of her face to her forehead, swirling over themselves again and again like tendrils of fog. She gestures for us all to take a seat and we plant ourselves along the edge of the lilac tablecloth.
I've just barely settled into my seat beside the strange looking man when there's an attendant pushing a gleaming tray under my nose. It smells savoury and spicy, some kind of meat covered in a sticky red sauce. My mouth waters as I take one and place it on the small purple plate in front of me. I look around to see how to proceed, noting how none of the capitol citizens have touched any of the food yet. They're just sipping the dark drink and talking in those ridiculous accents of theirs, each voice overlapping the last.
"The games are going to be interesting this year based on the tributes. Did you notice how-"
"I loved the interview they had with the one boy's family, such a cute-"
"Have you any idea what the theme is this year? I heard from a friend of a friend that they might-"
Around and around they go, the ends of the last sentences being engulfed by the proceeding ones. I tune them out and spear the meat with the end of my fork. Gingerly I take a small bite and am surprised as my mouth is taken over by a burning flame. It feels like my tastes bids have been set on fire like an overworked sewing machine and despite my efforts to appear composed, I drop my fork and dive for my glass.
I drink deeply, letting the immensely sweet liquid coat my tongue. But that barely quells the fire, spreading it more than putting it out. Desperately I reach for the glass beside me and gulp that down as well. Still my taste buds cry out for relief! I search the room wide eyed for a pitcher of water or something to soothe my mouth when an attendant taps my shoulder, holding out a large mug of milk. Thankfully I grab it and drink, feeling the burning subside. I sigh as I put the mug down, smiling graciously up at the woman.
As my mouth returns to normal I notice that the swelling conversation has stopped buzzing around me. I lift my eyes to the other occupants of the table and find all except for Cadman and Woof staring right at me. The stylist next to me seems particularly aghast and I realize it was probably his drink I stole.
"Sorry," I croak out, more embarrassed than I've ever felt. We might mock them back home for being eccentric and ridiculous but if there's one thing the citizens of the Capitol are its refined. I feel my face getting hot and look back at my plate.
"It's quite alright sweetheart," says Cecelia from my other side. She turns to the other members of our party. "Our food isn't generally very spicy in district eight."
They all nod and go back to their drinks, an attendant replacing the one I stole from the man on my right. I lift my head as Cecelia gives me an encouraging look and hands me a roll. I'm surprised they're just like back home, small oblong loaves that are hard on the outside but warm and soft on the inside. They're better quality than back home but I'd trade them for the ones we get at the market in a second. I remember dad coming home with them at the end of every week, a little celebration in the form of carbohydrates. We'd all sit around our beaten up table and each crack open our own, laughing and talking and sharing like a family. We might not have had much but there was usually enough and what wasn't there was hardly missed. Our parents worked hard to give us what we needed to survive.
Another course comes out, steaming hot bowls of soup. They're all a smooth light blue and look creamy but I'm weary after my last encounter with Capitol food. I watch Cadman, Cecelia and Woof dig in and after no signs of distress from them I dig in. It's unbelievable, light and warm but substantial too. It tastes potatoey with an undertone of something sweet.
Next comes salads made of thin leaves and covered in sweet berry syrup. Then giant flakey pies filled with meats and vegetables. For dessert, a plate filled with tiny cakes decorated with sugary diamonds.
As they wheel out another cart filled with hot drinks I recline in my seat, fuller than I've ever been. If this is how the capitol citizens eat every night, it seems impossible for them to be all as thin as they are. Of course the ones I've observed eating hardly touched the spectacular delicacies in front of them.
"Are you finally done?"asks Villard with a hint of malice colouring his high voice. He raises his eyebrows a ridiculous amount as he stares at me leaning back into the plush chair. I'd roll my eyes at him but all I want to do right now is sleep.
"Right then," he answers his own question and indicates for the servers to take away our dishes. The room settles into quiet as they whisk out of the room, arms piled high with plates, glasses and cutlery.
"Before you two go off, your stylists would like to get a good look at you so they can alter your costumes for the chariot rides tomorrow." His eyes shift between Cadman and I as he lays down this decree like an ancient king. "Just hold still unless they tell you to do otherwise."
Cadman stands, looking just as full as I feel but with his face set in a neutral stance so I copy him. I must look hesitant because Cecelia looks up and gives me a tiny encouraging smile. The man and the woman change places and she looks at me with a steady calculating gauge. I'm relieved she's my stylist; the man's overly large features set me on edge. As she stands studying me I can get a good look at the tattoos scrawling up her face. They're much more intricate than I imagined before, with different patterns, images ad figures twirling together in an elaborate design. She asks me to turn around slowly and I comply, feeling her eyes scanning all over me but not being too worried. This woman may not be from back home but certain parts of her are reminiscent and for that reason I decide to trust her.
"All right," she says as I turn around, he eyes finally meeting mine. "That'll do. You're going to be great, I promise."
I smile, wondering what outfit she could have possibly prepared for us. Previous years have usually been too outrageous to remember, with wild interpretations of what we do in district eight. Since we produce so many of the capitols favourite fabrics and even designers, the stylists usually take the idea of fashion and run with it. Hopefully it won't be too 'inspired' but you never know.
"I'm Leonarda, but you can call me Lee," she offers, holding my gaze. She gestures to the man across the room from us examining Cadman. "That's Finley."
"Angora, but you'd know that already wouldn't you? Can you tell me what you've got planned for tomorrow?"
She gives me a small hint of a smile. "No, but believe me, you'll look fantastic. This isn't my first games you know."
"Well!" says Finley, clapping his hands together, "It seems like we've got everything we need. Lee?"
"Yes, we'd better go add the final touches. Good evening everyone."
Our stylists leave the room with arms linked and Cecelia rises from the table. "You two had really better get to bed; you've got to be exhausted!"
"Yes, your rooms are at the end of the hallway," Villard gestures to the wide doors behind me.
"Good night!" Cecelia pulls me into a quick hug then sends us off.
Cadman and I exit the room and pace down the hallway in silence. His coldness puts me off, what have I done to him? I search my mind for something to say as we reach the end of the hall where it branches off and reveals two doors. "Well… sleep well." I offer, unsure of what to say.
He mumbles something and turns into the door closest to him. I open mine and am again shocked by the capitols decadence. The walls are a pale yellow and the floor is covered with a thick navy carpet. I the center of the room is a large dark blue bed with enough pillows to completely cover me and Gauge's entire room back home. There are two other giant doors, but I don't bother to open them tonight. On the edge of the rounded bed, I spot my scarf dropped in a loose pile at the foot!
I cross the room and bury my face in it. The smell of home envelopes me again and I breathe it in, wishing with every inch of my being that I could open my eyes and find myself sitting on my sagging mattress in my tiny shared bedroom. But wishing doesn't work and I open my eyes again to the brightly lit Capitol room. I continue to hug my token and let my thoughts drift.
As I hold the fabric, my thumb brushes against something pointed and thin. I rub it over the spot again, feeling the corner of something dully press back. Carefully, I peel back the scarf to reveal a slightly dirty white envelope. Kilim's letter!
I turn the paper over and examine the folded backside. There's a smudged fingerprint at the bottom that brings back the dirty factory work of home.
Slowly, I slid my finger in through the gap at the corner and rip the paper slightly. The envelope rips open, revealing the thin, scrawled on paper inside. I unfold it and begin to read what is probably my last letter from my dearest friend.