A SHOUT OUT: VeneratedArt is working on an SYOT that looks promising. She still has quite a few slots open, and needs people to submit mentors too! Check it out! It's called Shattered Souls: The 82nd Hunger Games.
Capri Kane, 14
District 11 Female
The fragile calm I found with my friends during my goodbyes is hard to maintain, but somehow I manage to make it past all the cameras and onto the train without shedding a tear. My eyes well up several times, but I manage to hold it all in. My district partner is not so lucky.
I saw from the section he was in that he's thirteen, even younger than I am. He's obviously been crying, and is still shaking with sobs, tears leaving tracings on his cheeks. Once inside the train, the escort bustles off to let the mentors know we're here, and I am left alone in the hall with Shahid.
I think that's what his name is, anyway.
"Hey," I say.
He looks at me, and his whole face looks defensive. "I'm fine," he says shortly, and stalks off to his room.
"I didn't say you weren't," I tell his retreating back, but he doesn't answer. That was quick.
Switching my attention to the surroundings, I survey the hall I stand in.
The train is more beautiful than anything I've seen, leaving even the grandeur of the Justice Building lying in the dust. Materials I can't even begin to name are evident everywhere, from the shiny light fixtures to the rich, soft fabric covering the walls. I run my hand over this softness as I walk down the hall, entering in to the door marked "District 11 Female".
Inside is even more elaborate then in the hall, and I close the door gently behind me and lean back against it, my mouth opening in wonder at the room. The carpet is a dark maroon color, and the bedspread is similar, and looks velvety smooth. There are five different pillows in all shapes and sizes lying against a smooth wooden headboard - a dark wood whose name I can't place - and every single one of them is at least twice as fluffy as the one on my bed at home. The lighting comes from a circular bulb set in the center of the ceiling, and it comes out a soft pink color through the rose glass covering it. A few shiny pieces of glass, or perhaps crystal, cut to reflect the light, hang above it.
On an impulse, I slip off my sandals and toss them in the corner, running across the room and then back, reveling in the softness as my feet sink deep into the carpet at every step. After several more trips there and back across the room, I throw myself panting onto the floor and close my eyes. The floor is warm and fuzzy against my cheek, and I give a long shuddering sigh as it sinks in where I am. This place may be beautiful, but it is taking me to the Capitol, and...other things.
Yet I cannot bring myself to waste this moment with unhappiness. I have a chance to be more comfortable than I have ever dreamed of, and if I'm going - I force myself to think the word - die, then I ought to make the best of my stint in the lap of luxury.
There is a sweet smell in the room, rich and heavy. I remind myself to ask Lorza the escort what it is. Then I climb up onto the bed, and pull the blankets into a nest. The darkness of the room and the softness of everything is making me sleepy, and the emotions of the day aren't helping. With my adrenaline wearing off, I am beginning to feel so tired, as though I have run a long, long race but finally have time to rest.
Curling up, I wrap it around myself, suddenly shivering despite the warmth. After a few moments, I give in to sleep, closing my eyes and giving a deep sigh.
The next thing I know, someone has me by the shoulders, shaking me insistently. I am instantly wide awake, and for a moment wonder where I am. Then I remember. There for a moment I almost thought it was my mother, letting me know I'd overslept and it was almost time to go to the fields. Instead, Lorza stands beside me, still wearing her ridiculous gold hoop earrings.
"Hurry!" she hisses. "I'm sorry to wake you, but you were supposed to meet the mentors and then you both disappeared! You'll be able to go right to bed after dinner if you wish, but right now you need to go make Harvyst's acquaintance."
So Harvyst will be mentoring this year. I wondered if it would be her or Seeder. Seeder's our most recent victor, and it was quite the buzz when she and Chaff won almost back to back. I guess it makes sense it would be Harvyst. They're rotating years, and Seeder was last year. I should have thought of that sooner.
"Coming," I say, uncurling myself and hurriedly pulling the bedding back into some semblance of order before leaving the room.
I follow Lorza down the hall, having to jog every few steps to keep up. How she can move so quickly in the shoes she wears is beyond me.
There is a buzz of voices in a room at the back of the train, and for a moment I expect Lorza to go there. Instead she turns suddenly through a side door. I have just time to read the name "Harvyst Callum" written above the door before it shuts behind us. Probably Shahid and Chaff have already taken over in back, and so I'll be meeting my mentor in her own rooms. I hear the upbeat voice of Caesar Flickerman for a moment before the nose suddenly shuts off. Harvyst turns to us, her hand still holding the remote to the television set.
"I'll leave you two to get aquatinted," Lorza says, leaving the room. She sounds a little to eager to get out, and it makes me nervous.
"Sit down," Harvyst says.
I think it's meant to be an invitation, but her voice is so flat and emotionless that it's hard to tell. Her eyes, blue once, are dull and cloudy. She looks like she has no hope.
Thinking back, it's easy to see why. She won before I was born, but I've seen parts of her games in reruns. She was just fifteen when she won, and she went through a lot to get that victory. The District 4 girl was gutting her before she herself collapsed from injuries sustained in an earlier fight and Harvyst managed to kill her.
Now I'm not sure what to think. Should I tell her I'm sorry she won her Games the way she did, and just sit here, or should I start asking her questions?
I take a seat, and Harvyst stares at me for a few seconds, the silence getting ridiculously drawn out.
"Were you watching the Reapings?" I ask, trying to make conversation.
She just nods.
"That's a good idea," I say. "We can look at the other tributes together."
She nods again, then clicks the sound back on.
This doesn't feel right. She's supposed to be mentoring me, not the other way around. I wish that I could help in some way, but really even just thinking about what happened to her terrifies me. What would it be like to win, knowing that if the Capitol hadn't patched you up you would have died easily? What would it be like to win already knowing what it felt like to die violently, already seeing yourself horrifically wounded, and then somehow manage to survive? I can only imagine that it would be terrible. Really, really terrible.
Realizing that I've begun to shake, I turn to the television. It's reruns of the Reapings earlier in the day, which makes sense, since they'd already be over, even Twelve's. I watch as fairly typical - meaning absolutely terrifying - careers volunteer in districts One, Two, and Four. Looks like it's a volunteer year for Four. We never know wit them. Sometimes there's volunteers, sometimes not. The girl from District 5 vomits all over the place when her name is called. A boy volunteers for who appears to be a friend in District 6. In District 7, there's a terrifying looking boy who volunteers, and a pretty, frightened looking girl Reaped. In Eight, the girl faints. The girl in Nine is deaf.
So many of the tributes are young this year. Me, Shahid, Willhelmina from Three, Liam from Twelve, and several others. Sickly, the thought worms its way into my brain that with that many young kids in I won't be the easiest target.
"What do you think?" Harvyst asks me.
I jump. I wasn't expecting her to talk.
"They look like a fairly average group," I say quickly. "The only surprises were the volunteers in Six, Seven, and Nine."
"You can't think that way," Harvyst responds immediately. "There's no such thing as average in the Hunger Games. You might have heard people encourage each other by saying that 'everyone's unique'. That's true, but in the Games it's by no means encouraging. Everyone has their own strengths and weaknesses, and in the arena, those strengths and weaknesses are what spell either your life or your death. Don't think of them as average. Watch them. Find out their skill sets. You're small, so you're going to have to be quick and observant if you want to live. Even then you'll probably die, but it's more likely they'll make it quick."
As she says the last sentence, Harvyst's hand hovers near the edge of her shirt. She's probably remembering just how slow the girl from Four planned to make it in her Games.
I swallow hard. "Okay," I say. "I think I can do that. What weapon should I learn to use?"
Harvyst looks at me. "I thought you were a fighter the second you refused to cry when they called your name," she says. "I can see I wasn't wrong. Do you have any skills?"
"With weapons?" I ask. "No. That's why I was asking you."
"There's not going to be time to become an expert with anything," she answers me, sizing me up. "Try a little bit of everything, and you'll at least have the advantage over some tributes. No matter what the game makers have in the cornucopia, you'll know at least something about it. And learn to improvise too. Make sure you visit all the stations, and focus not just on showing off what you're good at, but improving in what you're not."
I'm startled that Harvyst has just suddenly started talking to me. I can't think of anything I did that would just suddenly earn her trust. Before I have time to think about it much, Lorza calls us to dinner.
Shahid looks a little more confident than he did, and something in Chaff's face makes me think it had to do with their conversation. I tuck into the food heartily, listening to Shaid talking about the things he saw out the window. Grain and corn in District 9, and a huge mountain as we entered District 2. Apparently the train stopped on the border between Nine and Two to refuel, and he did some exploring. I'm envious, wishing I hadn't fallen asleep.
Quickly though, the food removes all thoughts of jealousy from my mind. Where my fear was, there is only chocolate.
Chocolate.
The word does not do justice to the heavenly flavor of this smooth brown liquid. Apparently there are other forms of it as well, but right now I could drink this forever. Lorza tells me to stop so I won't get sick, and with great reluctance I listen to her. It's very hard though, and I make a mental note to drink it morning noon and night in the Capitol. That reminds me of my other mental note from earlier in the day.
"What was the smell in my room?" I ask Lorza.
"Smell?" she says. "If something stinks we can send in an avox to clea-"
"It was a nice smell," I say quickly. Trust a Capitolite to think I was complaining. "Kind of - I don't know - warm, and woody. Sweet."
"Oh, it was probably sandalwood," she says, then goes back to whatever animated conversation she was having with Chaff.
I roll my eyes, asking to be excused from the table. Lorza nods, looking annoyed at the second interruption, and I scurry off to bed.
But not before tucking a large mug of hot chocolate behind my back.
Alabaster Parker, 17
District 12 Female
I manage to stay in control as we board the train, knowing that my beauty will be the key to a win, and that I won't look beautiful if my face is red and squinched in a million different directions.
Fern and Haymitch are waiting as soon as we reach the back of the train, where a luxurious buffet lies spread before us. That Haymitch is waiting for us is a bit of a misnomer, since he's already passed out on a sofa. Most victors manage to go a few years before turning to alcohol or drugs; not Haymitch. I think he was already drunk when he came back from his Victory Tour.
Not that I really care. The district needed a victor, and whether that victor stayed sober didn't make any difference to the piles of supplies rolling into our district every month. It was the one year I think I can say I was really and truly happy.
Sugar, and tea, and all sorts of wonderful things we could hardly even dream of flooded the pantries and stores, and even the kids in the District home were round and well fed. And then, the 51st Games was played, and District 4 was the new favorite. Nobody really remembers the coalminers, especially when they've only had two victors in fifty-four years. Even the District 11 apple pickers have five.
Fern is a much better victor then Haymitch. Her eyes are clear and snapping, and her hair, though no longer the sandy blonde it was the year she won, is as curly and untamable as ever. There's a vitality to our Fiddle-fern that the other districts just can't seem to match. She won by wit, pluck, skill, and because just about everyone loved her. She can still play the fiddle like nobody else, and she still uses the beat-up one she played all those years ago. It was her musical talent that made the Capitol take notice of her during the interview, giving her the nickname Fiddlefern, and through the rest of the Games she just kept getting noticed. It certainly didn't hurt her any that the arena was an underground cave system, and that she'd worked in the mines for a year before the Games. The age limit for miners was sixteen up until the 20th Games, since the population was low after the rebellion.
It's unfair that all the other districts let their kids get out there and work so young, giving them skills and self-reliance that puts them ahead of us in the Games. District 7 is at an especially big advantage. If the arena has trees and the cornucopia has axes, odds are District 7 will bring another child home. They win nearly as often as the career districts, and they don't even train for crying out loud!
Sure, they haven't won since the 39th Games, but District 1 hasn't had a victor since the 36th. Nobody can believe District 2 is beating them so bad, and One nearly always has a tribute in the final three, but their kids just can't seem to go the distance. Usually they're trained, but just not as smart or quick as the District 2s. Well, that Atalanta girl that's going this year - I saw her volunteer while watching the television this morning - looks formidable. Maybe they'll be in luck. Maybe she'll kill me quickly.
No, I can't count myself out.
I realize everyone is looking at me expectantly. "Did you say something?" I ask, looking at no one in particular.
"I said that it's nice to meet you, Alabaster," Fern answers. Her voice is soft but strong, and I see a hint of sympathy in her eyes.
"It's nice to meet you too," I say, remembering my manners.
"So, Alabaster - and you two Liam, since Haymitch isn't doing his job - do you have any strengths?"
Liam opens his mouth to speak, but I cut him off. Fern's my mentor, I should get to go first. "I'm likable, and I'm very good at sewing," I say primly.
Fern purses her lips. "Likability only goes so far, and you'd be more likable if you let Liam speak," she says sternly, nodding to Liam.
"I'm the best fighter in school," he boasts smugly, without bothering to turn away from the window. "There isn't one boy in class can take me down. In fax, there isn't one boy in any of the classes."
I roll my eyes. Nat Everdeen could take him down any day, and he's a skinny fellow.
Then Haymitch's voice drifts irritably from the sofa. "Are you going to box the boy from District 2 when he comes at you with a sword? Or the girl with an axe from District 1 that's trying to bash your stomach in?"
I wince. That's what happened to him in his games.
Fern motions for me to follow, and leaves the room. I hear Liam shoot back a smart-alecky reply as we shut the door behind us. Good luck dealing with a drunk Haymitch, Rocky wannabe.
Once we're in my room, Fern motions for me to sit down on the bed. Then she looks at me earnestly.
"You may not have many skills, Alabaster, but you're well fed, and that puts you in a better position than most of our tributes. Half the Games is getting the people to like you. They're not a beauty contest, but if you can get sponsors things just got a whole lot easier. You're pretty. Use that to your advantage, both with the Capitol and with the other tributes. I can tell from your expression that you haven't given up on this yet, but not everyone has to know that. When you get to the Capitol, I want you to flirt for all you're worth. Act shallow."
"But won't that just make me look weak?" I ask. "I don't want to be a target."
"Being weak is actually less likely to get you targeted than being fearsome. If you act tough, you'll either annoy them or convince them you're a real threat, and either way they'll try to take you out. Learn to use weapons, but act clueless when it comes to strategy. Flirt. When you're in the Games, they'll go after the real threats, and save you for later, thinking you'll just be a fun side job."
"I don't like the idea of being a fun side job," I giggle nervously.
Fern grimaces. "With a little luck and skill you won't be. That's why I want you to focus on self defense and edible plants. I have it from a good authority that the arena will be very natural this year," she whispers conspiratorially.
I smile. "I'll start now." Then I speak in a high voice, twirling the end of my braid around one finger and widening my eyes coquettishly. "Thank you so much Ms. Calloway! I'll rebraid my hair so that I'm perfect for them!"
She laughs a genuine laugh, though there's a bitter note to it. "I can see you're already an accomplished actress. Best of luck!"
She leaves the room.
I start undoing the braid, then stop suddenly. Obsidian did it for me during my goodbyes, and it's one of my last links to home...I sigh, and pull the whole thing out before I lose my nerve.
The next few hours are spent experimenting, until I finally decide to wrap it like a crown around my head, tying my white ribbon on the side so that it hangs down past my ear. Satisfied by the look, I take a deep breath and head out to dinner. I'll shower tonight, and redo it in the morning. I'll braid it like a crown with the rest falling down my back, and it'll be all wavy from being braided up all night...
I hadn't really thought about just how much my people skills acquired as my mother's top sales' girl might be in the Games. But now that I think about it, manipulation and some good acting might even be enough to bring me home alive.
Well, provided I pick up some weapons knowledge in the Capitol.
It's funny, these train chapters just keep getting longer! Well, next chapter we'll be arriving in the Capitol. There's some questions below that will help me determine how the next chapters are gonna look, so be sure to leave some nice long reviews. And submit to VeneratedArt's SYOT that I shouted-out at the beginning of this chapter.
Who would you like to see in coming chapters?
Is there anyone you're really not missing?
For you submitters, are there any prep-team interactions you're dying to see? Send me in ideas for how particular tributes should react, and if I like them, I'll write them!
Which of the mentors has been your favorite so far?
Would you like to see any of them star in a fic chronicling their Games?
Also, I have a list of known Victors and Escorts in my universe posted on my profile. Check them out, and let me know if anybody seems especially intriguing!