Cookies' A/N: Last time, I didn't make one, so - yeah.
Hope you all like Blye, and you get how awesome she is. Very spoiled, but she will change.
And thanks to those who helped me with both chapters.
Blye Ivory, 15 ~ District 1 Female
I've got cookies
It was okay.
The chariot ride, it was okay.
I bet that everyone else was so amazed by this thing, but I wasn't.
I should be, but I'm not.
Why?
Because my dad usually shows me the jewelry he's about to send to the Capitol. He's kind of a secret superhero to them; they can't imagine their lives without diamonds and stuff, but they don't know where it comes from. I guess. I doubt that they even care.
But I shouldn't worry about that right now. I should think about how beautiful I was today. My costume was a gold crown with bright jewels, a white-and-gold tunic with diamonds, and a long, jeweled golden staff.
Meanwhile, Gleam had something similar: a larger gold crown, a white-and-gold tunic with diamonds on the collar, seams, and cuffs, and a cape that gave off a soft white glow in the evening.
We looked so awesome – like they wanted to show us as royal as possible! Not like a queen and king, 'cause that would be crossing the line, but a princess and prince would do the trick. And that obviously means that they need us, and they think about our district like the one that has the most power. But only think, 'cause we have no power. We are as powerful as District 12.
Moving on. District 2 were knights. And for the first time, I saw them life-size. They're huge. They could squish me in a second, the boy and girl both. I hope that they're unskilled.
Huh. Hope.
It's the only thing stronger than fear.
Gah, I am so easily distractible. I can distract myself. Okay, District 3 looked like aviators; pretty old-fashioned, but still good enough. The rest of them had boring or lame costumes: some kind of dresses. . .trees. . .miner jumpsuits. . .
In the Training Center, all districts have their own floor. And because we're District 1, we get the first floor. Right now, I'm in my room, trying to have a little nap.
But my nap shall be disturbed, because there is someone at the door.
And it is. . .
. . .my stylist – Wertyos. Strange name. Normal for Capitol folk? Maybe.
My name is pretty weird in District 1: 'Blye'. While everyone else is something that glows or shines. Well, 'Althea' – my friend – is pretty unusual too; I would imagine that kind of name in District 2, maybe.
"Hey, never heard of knocking?" I ask him in a teasing tone. "It's in right now."
See, about my stylist. . .he's cool and all, but he's all Capitol.
"It's, like, two weeks ago. Maybe it's in now at your district," he teases back. "C'mon – you don't want to miss dinner."
"You bet I don't."
We are the last ones there. Gleam is sitting next to me. Our stylists next to him. Glitz, Wonder, Mylar, Silka, and Faustina across the table.
The room is fascinating. I do come from District 1, from a jeweler's family, but this just is something new. I'm not talking about the luxury stuff here; I'm talking about design. It's fresh because no one uses it at home, but it's not completely new: it has a hint of an old style they told us about in school. The style was called 'rococo'; it's very old, and comes from a place called Europe. I think. I wasn't paying attention that day, probably. Rococo rooms were designed as total works of art, with elegant and ornate furniture, small sculptures, ornamental mirrors, tapestries complimenting architecture, reliefs, and wall paintings. And I see pretty much all of that here. Maybe not so much paintings, but otherwise, yeah.
"What took you so long, Your Highness?" Wonder asks me with a grin.
"It takes time to take off that makeup. I thought you knew that I don't wear so much glitter on my skin on an everyday basis," I reply with a smile.
"Ah, should've known it was the glitter. Should've known."
The others smile a bit. Except Faustina and the stylists – they look kind of confused. Well, I guess District 1 humor will never seem funny to the Capitol.
We continue eating in silence. Potatoes with meat and salad; pretty easy, but tasty - and here comes the dessert: cheesecake. Looks so good. But it seems that my and Gleam's desserts are coming late.
They're all almost halfway done when Gleam asks, "Um. . .forgetting something?"
"No, why?" Glitz seems surprised.
"Us." I state the obvious. "Where are our desserts?"
Glitz just looks at Wonder questioningly with wide eyes.
"What?" Wonder asks her. "Ohhh, I was supposed to tell them. Okay. We asked them not to give you dessert. For your own good, you know." He says that as if it's nothing special.
I just sit there. We both do – me and Gleam.
"What?" I ask, not understanding the reason. "What could possibly happen in less than a week?"
Mylar lifts an eyebrow. "We want you in better shape than ever," he says.
"How can you know what shape we've been in before?" I mumble quietly.
"Actually, we've. . ." Wonder starts, but I don't let him finish. Gleam face-palms. I guess Wonder didn't get that neither Gleam nor I want to hear his answer.
"It was a rhetorical question!" I half-yell.
Maybe we're making too much drama out of our non-existing desserts, but being here is like a once-in-a-lifetime chance. When we can eat the fancy Capitol foods. But they're just like – 'We want to keep you in shape, for your own good.'
"Let's...go," I tell Gleam. He nods.
We go to the main room, where the TV and sofa are. We sit, but this time next to each other. The silence grows by the second. So this is kind of awkward.
"So, wanna' talk about something?" Gleam asks first.
"Yeah, sure. Why not?" I answer in a bit of a bored tone.
"Have you ever thought about why they picked you? At the pre-reaping?" His tone is unsure. He's kind of uncomfortable asking me this.
"What? I don't get it. . .what kind of question is that?"
"Pretty simple one. Why do you think you're here?" he asks, more serious than ever.
"Let's talk about something else." I don't want his questions to rub off on me.
"I bet you wanna' know even more than I do." Okay, maybe he's right about that one.
"Well, I guess it's because I was the best at everything, you know."
"Why do you think you were the best?"
"I have no idea, okay?" I almost scream at him.
I mean – he's doubting me! He thinks that I'm a Just-Pick-One-Girl-and-Let's-Go-Home tribute. But I'm not. I truly am better than the other girls at the academy. At least - I'm better than the twenty-six girls who went to the pre-reaping.
"Okay, sorry. . . . . .Why not ask Glitz or Wonder? They might know." He gestures to them as they come from the dining room.
"Ask us what?" Glitz says.
"Why you all picked me, instead of some big eighteen-year-old?" I'm not sure why I'm so disappointed.
"Oh. Yeah. They might know," Mylar says in a joking sarcastic tone, as he passes us. He sits on the other sofa and turns on the TV.
"In Practice Bloodbaths," Glitz says, "it's not just about who gets what weapon. It's also about who gets to the Cornucopia first."
We sometimes have Bloodbath simulations at the academy. No one dies there, of course. We just wait for the sixty seconds to pass, and then we run to the Cornucopia, grab weapons, 'kill' virtual tributes, and try not to be 'killed'.
Gleam and I try to figure out what that means.
"Don't you think it's pretty obvious?" I tell him, smiling. "They wanted to say. . .that I'm fast."
"You think?" He's doubting me again. Does he really want to get on my nerves?
"No, I'm just saying it out of randomness."
"Oh, well. . .then we need to test it. I challenge you to a race." He has a competitive smile. He likes challenges just like I do. Cool.
We go to the end of the living room, so I can explain the rules. "We have to go through the living room to the dining room, where we run one lap around the table. Then to our rooms, tap on the door, and run back here."
"On the way back, we'll run through the dining room without a lap around the table, and - on both ways - over the sofa," he completes my rules.
"Sounds good to me," I say. We take our starting positions. "Get ready, set-" I pause, and look at Wonder, so he'll get that he has to continue.
"Go!" Wonder yells.
The first run to the sofa is kind of short, since no one is in the lead. But after Gleam jumps off the sofa, he's quite ahead of me, just because his jump is enormous.
For a few seconds – then I get to him.
Now we're about to enter the dining room. The lap around the table sure is a tight race, but I'm not about to give up.
Now our rooms. Good thing the run is a straight line; I can easily lose him. And so I have; he's a few feet behind me. I tap on my door, and am on my way back when I hear Gleam tap.
I don't know if this is his strategy all along, but he's catching me slowly. We're about to enter the dining room when he touches my shoulder, and that means that he's right behind me and soon to be next to me. I put on my full speed – yeah, that's right, Gleam; you won't be seeing my face until the end of the race.
I'm already in the living room, about to jump over the sofa. Run, run, run, and jump-!
But Faustina stands right in front of me. She's about to say something when I interrupt her – "Yeah, yeah, not now" – and run around her without stopping. I jump and tap the wall.
Aaaaand. . .yes! I win!
"In your face, Gleam! I actually am fast!" I'm filled with happiness right now.
"Yeah, congrats. Now I know the reason why you're here - heyyy. . ."
He isn't able to finish, because Faustina takes us by our sleeves. "When I'm about to tell you two something about your behavior, you listen."
We hang our heads, so she'll get that we understand and respect her. I mean, no one wants to listen to her stories about disrespectful people, and now less than ever.
"Okay, I'm kind of tired. I'll go to bed, I think." I wave to the others.
I hear a few 'goodnight's once I'm out of the room.
I head straight to my bed. I want to be in a good mood tomorrow; it will be the first day of training. I want to dream cute and cuddly dreams that won't wake me up in the middle of the night. I want to dream.
I touch the ring on my finger – a token from home. It helps me a bit. It helps me fall asleep. It helps me to dream. . .cute and cuddly. . .dreams.
Weave Tarroten, 15 ~ District 8 Male
Wolffe41
I've always thought being taken away to the Capitol and forced to train and get to know the tributes that are more likely than not going to be dead in a few weeks, the worst part of the Games.
Of course, I entirely forgot about the Tribute Parade until Woof reminded me this morning.
The Tribute Parade. Perfect time for the lovely Capitol citizens to take their pick on who to sponsor, and bet on the first deaths and training scores. Usually, the escorts start going around at the parade to attract those people to get sponsors, but for some reason, I don't think that that will be necessary for Ferronia.
Because my imbecile of a stylist - a crazy purple skeleton-woman called Brietta - decided it would be a 'fantastic, new idea' to dress me up in horrific metal armour that is supposed to resemble a thimble. It sticks out in odd angles, and I can still feel it digging into my legs as our chariot is pulled into the Training Centre, away from the avenue and the noise and the incredible lights.
I suppose I have it better than Twilly, though. She's in some sort of dress made of the same metal – basically, a huge thimble with arm and head holes. She stands stiffly and can barely move; I had to lift her into the chariot because Ferronia vanished into the crowd as soon as we arrived.
I can see Ferronia now, with our stylists and prep team in a little bay with an '8' hanging from above.
The horses automatically slow down and halt when we reach them, and the nine women (Woof and I are the only males this year, hurray) start to screech and reach up to drag us down - quite literally.
I manage to get out first, and Brietta pulls me into a hug. Her obviously fake bosoms threaten to suffocate me, and I push her away in disgust to help Twilly down. She doesn't weigh a thing, as I found out when I helped her off of the train this morning, but I struggle slightly as I lower her now. The dress is ridiculously big, and I notice that her beaky stylist has not bothered to put any padding around the jagged edges, and her skin is rubbed raw.
"You two look wonderful!" one of my team squeaks. I haven't bothered learning their names – they're from the Capitol. All the men end in –ius, and the women in –ia.
I shoot a look that says 'Seriously?' at Twilly, and she giggles.
"Where do we go now?" I ask Ferronia, ignoring the chirping women and glancing at my escort. She is looking at the tributes from 1, in their white tunics and glittering jewels.
She jumps, before turning her attention back to us and grabbing my arm.
"To the floors. You know, as District Eight, you get one of the best ones – not too high, not too low, overlooking the city beautifully! You really are lucky," is her only reply. She doesn't let go of my arm.
One of the prep team ruffles my hair and slaps my cheek. I think she was trying to be affectionate, but it's hard to tell with those talons on her hands. "You looked so FINE! Why can't everyone look this good? You be the best out tonight, hear me?" she squeals.
"I looked like a mutilated piece of metal. Somehow, I don't think that counts as fine," I snort back at her.
Brietta looks a bit confused, and strokes my chest plate thing. "But this - this is magnificent! It represents your district, and it defines your face so well. And it's stunning!"
All of the other tributes are heading off, and Ferronia seems to have finally realised, as she cuts me off before I can reply, which is a shame. I have a nice retort ready for the bird. She grabs Twilly and pulls us along, the team following, still squealing and squeaking quite happily. And she explains tonight to us.
I crinkle my nose in disgust and shake my head at Twilly, and she rolls her eyes back. The only few words that I manage to hear from the escort are 'food', 'wash down' and 'recap'. I don't care about the others, but the mention of food gets my stomach churning.
Ferronia said earlier that the food here is much better than on the train, and to be perfectly honest, I can't see how that works, but am quite happy to test the theory. The prep teams 'forgot' to give me any lunch before all of this, and I couldn't manage much this morning on the train.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see Twilly perk up as well, and our pace gets a little bit quicker as we pass seven other parking bays and reach a room full of glass lifts.
"Do you want one on your own, or with the others?" Ferronia asks us. There is one empty one left, and Twilly is eyeing it.
"Alone," we both say. Well, stutter.
She looks a little worried and leads us, accompanied by the flock of babbling women, over to the lift.
"Your district represents which floor you have. For example, District One have Floor One, District Two have Floor Two..."
I take this as a cue to press a round shining button with a number '8' on it. Ferronia looks rather pleased that I figured out so quickly. If she usually has to deal with things like that, it's no surprise really that we have only two victors.
The lift begins to move, and my still-churning stomach drops to the bottom of my toes as we rise, faster and faster. The Lift Room vanishes, and I just catch sight of the burly District 5 boy watching us. He is reduced to a dot the size of an ant in a matter of seconds, so I don't mull over it for too long.
Ferronia turns to me expectantly. "Why did you want to go alone? Isn't it better to try to make some friends that could later be allies?"
Ah. Twilly looks at me, and from the way her cheeks have flushed slightly and her brow has furrowed, I think she has come to the same conclusion that I have. Or she just didn't want to see anyone whilst looking like a thimble.
"If I - we - get to know people, it'll make it a hundred times harder to see them killed, and allies always backstab you in the end. I'd rather go in alone and safer, without having to worry that one of the people that I've grown to like are going to be killed, whether I'm going to have to kill them..." I tell her, looking to the side, focusing on the button glowing in the darkness.
Ferronia turns to Twilly. "What about you?"
Her tone is harsh, and the girl shrinks back into that huge costume.
"W-what he said," she mutters, pointing at me. Brilliant. Ferronia has managed to get us no sponsors (with the help of the stylists, of course), give me a headache, put down everything and everyone in favour of the Capitol, and scare Twilly.
I glare at the woman, ignoring the rest of her comment of "I'm sorry, dear..." and "I didn't mean it like that!"
It comes as a relief when we finally reach our floor, and the first thing I see is a blur of faded blue material, which is pulled back by Woof. He and Rena stand directly opposite us, taking in our outfits, because I'm sure they would have watched the parade from here.
"Well, it's slightly better up close," he jokes. Rena elbows him in the ribs and coughs.
"Yes, it's very nice." I can tell that it's sarcasm, and Twilly can too, but the Capitolians are too thick to realise. "But would you be able to get them out and ready for dinner?" It's Woof's turn to look shocked, and he leans in to mutter something in her ear. My prep team grab my arms in a surprisingly strong manner, and are about to drag me off when Rena calls out, "Wait! Actually, just take the costume. I'm sure they can manage fine. Show them to their rooms."
The teams look a little sad, and the stylists tell them to go downstairs to their own suites. The show of emotion is incredible – who knew they even have any form of emotion other than obsessive chatting and squawking and giggling?
Ferronia steps forward, and obviously expects us to follow, and we are led through the dark blue suite to a pair of doors, a few meters apart. A fancy painting of swirls in reds and oranges that look like fire hangs outside the door that is apparently mine, and Twilly has a much more subtle green and black one.
She tells us to be ready in half an hour before trotting off back to the central lounge, leaving us alone with the stylists.
Brietta presses a button, and the door slides open with a slight hiss. Twilly's stylist does the same, and I smile at her.
"See you in a bit."
She nods and smiles back, although it is much fainter that it was on the train.
'My' room is huge, glossy black wardrobes lining one wall, and a thick teal carpet. I feel myself sink a few millimetres into it, and spot another door that must lead to the bathroom. Brietta pushes me inside, past a luxurious bed that would be able to fit my entire family, bedside units, and a speaker with a white flap.
I have just enough time to wonder what it is, when I see the bathroom. It is completely unlike anything I have ever seen before, including the ones on the train. There are lines and lines of buttons, filling almost an entire wall, and so many gadgets that it would take a few months just to get through half. Luckily the shower is not overhanging – instead, it's fitted into the ceiling with small shining lights.
"Start getting undressed, and I'll get you a shower ready," Brietta says.
I still feel uncomfortable with being naked alone in a bathroom with her, but after getting glared at and threatened this morning, I do as she says.
She gives me a hand undoing all the buckles and straps attaching the solid plates to my back, standing away as I take off the underclothes, and leaving without a word.
I shake my head in wonder at the way her mind works – really, it's a mystery. Everything out here is a mystery, how they live, how they manage to be so well off and we have nothing, how different it is from home.
The thought of home sends a longing twist of pain through my heart, and I force myself into the running shower before my brain rushes into overdrive, because I can tell that stress is pushing it to the limit.
No, I tell myself, you have to be strong. For Amille.
I amuse myself by pressing random buttons, or making them spell out rude words, but end up coming out smelling like a bizarre mixture of roses, cinnamon, rice and grass.
I try to find the plainest clothes in the wardrobes – a hard task, as everything is so bright and silky and smooth.
A knock shakes me from my thoughts, which aren't very preoccupied with whether to go with the darker trousers or the lighter slacks. I give up.
"Hurry up! You're late, and we're all waiting for you!"
Ferronia. I sigh, and head towards the door and the insane escort complaining that she will get indigestion if I don't hurry. Amongst upcoming things, like being forced to fight to the death, I find that I honestly don't care.
"So, how did it go?" Rena asks as soon as I'm settled at the table. The Avoxes – the servants in red that are 'traitors' to the Capitol, and have had their tongues cut out - have put out enough food to feed a street of people, but no one has touched it yet.
I look at Ferronia before I answer. "Terrible. The costumes were awful...and I don't think we attracted very many people."
Ferronia looks disappointed in me.
"I had to stand on a block, and the stylist – s-she put me in that thing," Twilly tells them. I nod encouragingly, and she rolls up her sleeves to show the red gashes caused by the metal.
Woof hisses, and Rena swears under her breath. Ferronia looks away.
"The effect was good, though – it was bright and shiny and stood out! District Seven were dressed as trees!" she chirps.
The fact that we weren't the worst dressed is not very comforting. At least the other stylists had enough of a brain to make sure their tributes were happy with the outfit.
"It's better than some of the previous years, I agree," Woof says. Ferronia looks happy that someone agrees with her. He strokes his chin and eyes the pair of us. "But they should have made you comfortable. Even when I had to be a needle, I was padded. It's atrocious that they didn't – I will speak with Chiron tomorrow."
Ferronia sighs and raises her hand at the table. "Go ahead and eat. You might as well, but be careful – this table costs more than you could ever make in your lives!"
Thank you for the fact, Ferronia. I'm sure we appreciate it, because we will not make anything in our lives, because you and your stupid Capitol are giving us a one-in twenty-four chance of survival in a fight to the death with people that have been specially trained. I open my mouth to say something, but Rena gives me a glare and I close it again. I take a bread roll, and Ferronia delicately nibbles a long piece of meat. Our mentors haven't moved, though.
Twilly asks them what's wrong, and Woof sighs.
"In the arena, there is going to be very little food, unless you can hunt, recognise berries, or become part of the Career pack. Everyone else is going to gorge themselves these few days before you go into the arena, and they are going to suffer."
I swallow my mouthful of bread. "Why?"
"They'll get used to eating a lot of rich food, and then have nothing in the arena. What will that lead to?"
I shrug and look at Twilly. She looks as confused as I feel.
Ferronia is ignoring us.
"They will starve far more easily than they would have had they not eaten so much. Their stomachs won't be able to handle the change from significantly full, to maybe a berry or two a day. It will make them ill, and then nature will take its course and they will die," Rena answers.
Oh.
"So you want us to train ourselves to not need very much to eat?" Twilly asks.
The mentors exchange a look, before saying yes.
"If you can train yourself to live on very little food, then you will last much longer. Trust me." Rena nods.
That makes sense, I suppose. Not that the strongest and most threatening will need to worry about starving.
"All right, that's enough starving talk. You have enough food now, and you might as well make the most of it, because you will not be getting it again!" Ferronia snaps. We look at her, and her cheeks have flushed under all her makeup.
"We are not talking about now, we are talking about then, and getting them the best chance possible. Because I don't know about you, but I would like a victor!" Rena spits back. Her eyes have gone dark, and for a brief moment I can see the girl she was in her Games – quiet and watchful until the time came, and she went mad at the sight of her only ally's mangled body. She won two hours after her 'little' killing spree of four.
Ferronia shrinks back, and Woof takes hold of Rena's arm. She is still seething, and I can see Twilly shaking in her seat. The mentors mutter something to each other, and Ferronia opens her mouth to say something, but Woof's expression silences her.
"Leave. Now," he growls.
The escort takes one last look at us, then flees, her heels snapping down with each step. Now that it's over, I can feel myself shaking, but Woof has calmed his partner down, and she smiles, ashamed, at us.
"Anyway, moving on from that..." Her tone lightens again, and she offers me a slice of chicken. I refuse, still thinking about the whole overeat-now-starve-then thing.
"Ferronia mentioned you didn't want to get to know the different tributes, but didn't exactly explain it. What happened?" Woof asks. I sigh and open my mouth, ready to answer, but surprisingly, Twilly beats me to it and gives them pretty much the exact same explanation that I gave the others earlier. Her memory is incredible, because I can't even remember it word-for-word like that.
When she is finished, Rena nods understandingly, and Woof pours a glass of wine. Again, I'm offered some, but again, I refuse. I haven't tried wine or any other form of alcohol in my life, and I don't particularly want to out here, to drown out my last days alive.
"Good. At least you've understood the concept of the Games. It's a fight to the death, and if you have friends or any form of attachments, then it will make your job much harder. The Careers always betray each other in the end, and I've seen plenty of people in alliances who later turn on their partner, or go crazy because they saw them die," Woof tells us. My cheeks flush slightly with the praise, and I pretend to cough as a cover-up.
"What do you want us to do tomorrow?" I ask, and my heart flutters as I await the response. I could do anything, but if we're told to stick together, then I have a problem.
No offence to Twilly, she's absolutely lovely and sweet, but having a twelve-year-old tagging around will slow both of us down, and I definitely do not want to get any more attached to her. If after a day I feel like some sort of older brother, and try to help and protect her – because, in all fairness, I'm the only one save the mentors who has even bothered - who knows what it's going to be like after a few days of training?
But if I leave her, what would the others do?
This is far too stressful. Maybe I should request private training, and avoid human contact. But then she would be hurt that I left her, and–
Shut up and breathe! I tell myself, as my vision clouds. Panicking is not going to make anything any easier for anyone.
Rena seems to sense my conflicted mind, and arches an eyebrow. "I would suggest splitting up, to learn different things – for instance, Weave, you try a few things like hand-to-hand combat, maybe spears, handling a knife, et cetera, in the morning. And swap to survival in the afternoon. But really, it's entirely up to you."
Woof catches my eye and winks slightly, and I remember our plan from last night. Spears. Speed. Survival.
Twilly asks a few more questions and I allow my mind to wander, think about tomorrow and start to count down the days to the arena. I eat about the same amount as I do at home, to try and bring the change round slowly, planning to eat less tomorrow, then less again, and less...
I think about home again, and how very far away it seems.
I only left yesterday morning, but that has melted away, and time feels like nothing but a giant stopwatch, ticking off every breath I have left. Not the nicest thoughts, I admit, but it takes my mind off the worry about everyone else. I must focus on myself, not them. Me.
"Are you finished eating?"
I look at Twilly and realise that I'm the only one still seated. Wait, how did that happen?
I nod and her, and the Avoxes come out to clear the table. Rena and Woof have wandered to the central living area and turned on the television. Twilly raises a shaky eyebrow before going to sit with them.
I try to ignore the fact that I have just managed to completely zone out, and put it down to stress. I'm fifteen. I'm not mad, I just didn't realise.
"Do you two want to watch the recaps of the Parade?" Woof asks.
"And see how ridiculous we looked in comparison to everyone else again? No thank you. I might go to bed," I reply. He snorts, and Twilly giggles nervously. Rena rolls her eyes at her partner, and bids me goodnight.
I say goodnight back, grab a cup of water from a small window sink and head back to my room. Ferronia's corridor is silent apart from her few muttered curses, in a much deeper and more normal voice than I have ever heard come from her before.
Shaking my head amusedly at her many different character, I go into my room, change into a pair of red silk pyjamas, and try my hardest to fall asleep in the plush bed.
Eventually, I hear Twilly come through, call "goodnight" softly through my door, and retreat into her room.
I hear the mentors come through a short while after, chuckling and muttering under their breath (evidently trying to be quiet), and possibly a little bit drunk. I roll my eyes at their pathetic attempts and curl up tightly on my side, trying not to think of the upcoming events.
Like the fact I have to meet all the other people that have to die so I can come home, and learn how to kill them, whilst they're doing exactly the same.
Adeline Matthews, 15 ~ District 10 Female
the epic bookworm
After one last smile and wave, my chariot disappears from the audience.
I step off the chariot, relaxing my aching cheek muscles and lowering my arm, which is tingling from holding it up for so long.
Rameses rolls his eyes. "That was idiotic."
"Wasn't that bad. Preparation was far worse," I reply.
He grunts disgustedly at the mention of the stylist session. I don't know what happened during his, but during mine, I was poked, prodded, pulled, and otherwise "remade". From ripping hair off my legs with glue-covered strips, to slopping absurd amounts of makeup onto my already-tan skin, making me look utterly bizarre.
And don't even get me started on the outfits. Not exactly the most dignifying. With a loose plaid shirt, a short, bright red checkered skirt, a leather belt with a large gold medallion, cowboy boots, and – to top it all off – a cowboy hat on my head and a pitchfork in my hand.
Rameses was more annoyed than I was, though; he scowled the whole chariot ride. I tried to get sponsors by waving, smiling, and otherwise using charm, but my pathetic costume didn't help.
Lucky District 1. Their industry being luxury items, all the stylists have to do is figure out some new way to stick gems onto an outfit. The tributes this year had crowns, regal scepters, and jewels everywhere. They could've had huge grimaces on their faces and still earned sponsors.
Even District 6 had better costumes than us.
I'll just have to shine in training and the interview.
"Okay job," Silas says, beckoning us over.
Rameses nods, and walks into the main building quickly.
"We're going to dinner," Silas announces, Lisette following. He walks very quickly, and I fall behind soon enough.
Lisette smiles. "You were great. Don't mind Silas, he's just annoyed that Rameses wasn't smiling or waving."
"Thanks." I smile. I wish Lisette had been my mentor; she's so much nicer than Silas. He's extraordinarily cunning and a master of strategy, which has helped me plan things, but he can be quite cold.
The male from 2 bumps into me.
"Sorry," he says. Then, he winks with a grin. "I'm Dominic Parraldi, by the way. See you tomorrow?"
"Ah…well…yes," I finish, stuttering. He grins one more time and before he can talk more, I slip into the elevator.
That was awkward.
Awkward, but somehow nice. At least someone noticed me. Although I don't think it's good that he could very well be one of the most dangerous tributes, being a Career.
The brightly lit hallways sting my eyes, used to the dim of the night. Of course, outside still wasn't dark, thanks to infinite sparklers, glowsticks, lanterns, and bioluminescence alterations lighting up the already-bright Capitol.
Silas, Lisette, and Rameses are already eating the luscious food provided by the Capitol. I say my hellos and dive into the food. Who knew standing on a chariot waving could make a girl so hungry?
"So," Silas breaks the silence, "let's just say you'll have to be more charming than that in your interviews. But for current events, training is tomorrow. What are you considering doing?"
"I want to learn some hand-to-hand combat," I reply. "And swimming."
"Good. Hand-to-hand combat will be useful if you find yourself without weapons. Swimming could be okay. Try to do some climbing and weapons skills. What about you, Rameses?" Silas says briskly.
"I'd like to learn edible plants. Run some. Useful things."
"Edible plants?" Silas snickers. "Learn about the poison ones. That's something you can actually use."
"Okay." Rameses ends the conversation.
"What about alliances?" I ask.
"Avoid them," Silas says coldly. "You can't trust anyone. Only ally with someone who you can use, and only if absolutely necessary. Never ally out of pity."
"But alliances can be useful, if one gathers a big group with varied skills," I argue.
"Anyone could turn on you at any time, kill you in your sleep, steal your supplies. Avoid other people. That's how I won."
"Fine. But what if the Careers invite me into their pack?"
"They won't."
"Hypothetically speaking."
"Okay then: don't join them. They're better than you, and could kill you easily. Got it?"
I nod.
"Good. Get to bed, you have a big day ahead of you."
The Avoxes clear our plates, and we walk into our separate rooms. Training tomorrow. I have a fair chance of getting a high score, but I need to learn more; I don't have enough skills on my own.
I'm going into the Games in six days. In six days, my life could be over.
I never imagined it happening to me. I saw it on the screen every year without fail, but I never could've pictured it. I'm going to die. Somehow, saying it bluntly almost lets me accept it. Almost.
Let's see what I can learn in training. Let's see what score I get. Maybe I shouldn't count myself out. Who knows? I could have a chance.
With that inspiring thought, and me trying to make myself believe it, I click off the light and go to sleep.
He never said sorry. Never told me what he did. He was a coward. Oh, he was regretful, but he never worked up the courage to tell me what he did.
And I never remembered.
I blocked it out, no one reminded, I didn't want to remember, and I forgot.
It's not hard to forget things if no one wants you to remember.
I wake.
My glowing clock reads 2:13 a.m.
Why did I wake up? There was a dream…I don't remember a thing about it. Like an itch I can't reach, it eludes me. What was it? Something involving Dad. But I just can't remember.
It takes me a long time to get back to sleep, but when I do, I dream about the Games. Blood flying everywhere. The muscular brute boy from 1 stabbing, and the tall, cocky one from 5 smirking as everyone around him dies. The sarcastic girl from 2 drenched head-to-toe in blood, smiling, and the poor blind girl from 6 dead at her feet. Soon enough, I die, killed by the girl from 1. People trample my body lying prone, and all I can see is red. Deep crimson staining my body.
Beatrix wakes me. "Up-and-at-'em, Addy, it's time for training," she says dully, staring absentmindedly at a wall.
Let it begin.