A Vivid Note: apologies for this chapter taking so long, but have no fear, for there are only six more chapters before the games begin after this. Also, as surprising as this is to hear, as of this chapter we've passed the 200, 000 word count. Did any of you believe I would reach this far when I first asked for your tributes?
And I promise I'll... make it worth your... time... ahaha...
There is yet another song in this chapter (I promise, this is the last one for a very long time.) and as per usual, it is an English rendition of a Japanese song titled "Shinyaku no Yoru" (Night of the New Testament). You can find it by typing in the words "UMG 6 with English Translations". It's a beautiful song- if you don't have an aversion to foreign music- and quite powerful I believe.
Capitol Question #012; do you think 'favouritism' towards tributes affects Gamemakers' judgements? Would it affect you if you were a Gamemaker?
Kiss-Kiss,
Vivid.
The Capitol Games
Julian Healthcliffe Farraday; 17 years; the Capitol Sector 12.
Parties are my element, the environment in which I thrive best. There's about an hour to midnight and the number of women I've probably swayed into sponsoring me has grown into the dozens, and I've even managed to stomach talking several men into it as well.
It's amazing what a batted eyelid can achieve when you're attractive. Especially when the recipient is almost three times your age and loaded.
-I can't be too complacent though. I'd be lying if I said I wasn't spending every spare moment scouting out the corners of the room for her; turning around every female Avox in the hopes of finding that one woman.
She can't have been killed because of me. She just... can't have been. I'd never forgive myself if she were. But knowing that I feel so bad for potentially, inadvertently killing someone just tells me that I'm not at all prepared for what's to come in two more nights.
I know most of these people now. Heck, I even like some of them. How am I supposed to put my life before theirs?
This was all a lot simpler back when I thought of the Hunger Games as more of a pageant than a fight to the death.
As I go to take a drink, the familiar but horrible sugary smell of the vomit syrup fills my nostrils and I involuntarily heave in disgust.
"Eurgh- for Christ's sake-!"
In my moment of deep thought, I had accidentally raised the glass of ipecac to my lips instead of my beer. I've already used it twice tonight in order to continue eating and drinking with all the potential sponsors. Usually I don't touch the stuff, but it's a necessity tonight.
-Not that I don't hate it. The syrup is usually used by bulimic girls and the guys who date them. The first and last time I used the stuff was for a dare- and boy did I end up regretting that. It makes a person throw up until their stomach is empty, and then continues until every last ounce of spit is thrown up with it.
You'd never guess from its sugar-sweet taste.
For the last half hour I've been watching as the little brat Sapphire is being dragged from sponsor to sponsor by Vee. It's pretty funny, watching her squirm uncomfortably inside that dress of frills as the men and women look at her so severely.
They all know a girl like her has no hope of winning. Why would she? Not only is she plain to the eyes, she's not even a pleasant person.
Listening hard, it's possible to hear the whispers of 'the bloodbaths'. Though the gamblers tend to go for the big win- who will come out alive- there are a few betting pittances on who will be killed in the 'big opening'.
I've heard the names. I can rattle them off as easily as I can say the alphabet.
First the girl from Sector 1; the winged one- they're all saying she's done for. Then the boy and the girl from Sector 3, who I'm hearing a lot of people say 'look too friendly' to be winners. Then the girl from 6, and the girls from 8, 9, 10 and 12.
As for the boys, not as many- but no one thinks the youngest kid- 'Vince' from Sector 11 will make it. Same goes for the boy from 5- who everyone is just sort of glazing over in order to focus on Ari Saint-Claire.
As for me... well I'm a charmer. If they thought I was a bloodbath before, they're certainly not going to want me to be one now. All it takes is for my lips to brush against that woman's ear or my hand to run down that woman's arm... simple enough.
Wasn't so eager to do the same for the men though.
Still, hearing those whispers just confirmed that we are who we are; the Capitol. Doesn't matter if it's District kids or Capitol kids slugging it out in that arena- they want their bloodbath, their bloodshed and their bloodstained winner.
All that matters is that one of us also wants the same things. Then they'll have a victor.
"Julian, are you growing bored?"
For the first time since we caught the elevator ride down to the ballroom floor, I turn and see Nikolai, in his usual worn stance, staring at me with eyes glazed over with liquor. Though he asked the question, I can already tell that the old guy is exhausted.
I shrug. "I've worked the room. There's nothing left to do but wait out the clock."
For some strange reason, this causes Nikolai to smirk dryly and shake his head. I oblige by smirking back, though I have absolutely no idea what's funny. We spend a few minutes in an empty silence, when the mentor finally opens his eyes and seems to settle on me properly.
"You know... you've worked harder than any other tribute I've ever had Julian," He says, still smirking slightly. "Possibly the first who had any skills with people, to be honest."
"District 12 doesn't have any charismatic kids?" I ask lightly, raising my beer to my lips.
In response, Nikolai's eyes trail along the floor with a very definite sadness.
"District 12... doesn't have any children who fight anymore."
There's a pause as I hold my glass to my face but don't take a drink. The many lines that stretch across Nikolai's face deepen in anguish as I can't help but feel a horrible sinking sensation inside my chest.
This is the first time I realised how much pain mentors must go through each year. Over the course of six days they grow to understand a pair of kids, only for them to enter an arena and be slaughtered. Then the process repeats the next year with a new pair of kids who would suffer the same fate.
The coal District hasn't had a winner in years. Perhaps Nikolai, a victor from a game thirty-seven years ago, has been able to do nothing but watch hopelessly as two children from his hometown die at the hands of careers, Gamemakers and one another...
...God. I came into these Games thinking they weren't as bad as people believed. So people died? What did it matter, really? People die all the time. That's what I thought.
I had no damn idea there was this much strain on the world around the Games.
Swallowing, I turn away from the old man. "Listen... Nikolai... I'm sorry... okay?"
In the corner of my eye I can see him look up, but I don't dare look him in the face. Not now; when I don't deserve to burden this poor guy any further.
"...I'm... probably not going to make it out of this thing alive..."
As he stiffens, I close my eyes gently and smile widely. Facing him with no courage, I outstretch my hand into the darkness.
"-but promise me, promise me that you won't blame yourself, okay old man?"
Nikolai Medve of District 12, the winner of the 88th Hunger Games, says nothing. But, with a little hesitation, the cold leathery skin of his hand grasps mine.
Julian Healthcliffe Farraday of the Capitol, victim of the 125th Hunger Games, is grateful.
"Now let's have a drink, huh?"
Liotta McKensie; 12 years; the Capitol Sector 1.
"Oh, Lili I almost didn't see you there."
Hearing Vince's voice after so long is like a rush of comfort. Though I try to hide my happiness behind a meek smile, I'm positive that my eyes are gleaming. I turn to see him, weakly showing an exhausted sort of smile- but his eyes that meet mine are absolutely sparkling.
Not knowing if it's okay or not, I hug him lightly around the shoulders. "Vince, I'm so glad you found me. Everyone else is... well, they keep getting dragged away by their mentors."
"Oh, they're lucky," Vince awkwardly pulls away from me, sighing. "My mentor isn't even trying to get me sponsors. He just keeps pushing them towards Cotton and they all love her."
I bite my lip in sympathy. That sounds so much like what's happening to me; all of the sponsors heading straight to Jason with his score of 10. Though Jason has always seemed nicer to me than Cotton does to Vince- he told me that she's been pretty rude to him actually- I can't help but feel I deserved more than 4. None of the other tributes stood up for themselves like I did, did they? I bet none of them had the brief courage to try and take down a Gamemaker... I might even be the first tribute in history to have done what I had.
Still, no one except Sapphire knows I had done that- and right now I should be focusing on Vince. "I'm sure you'll be okay Vince, everyone keeps saying how much they like you because you're... um... cute."
It sounds stupid when I say it like that, and I can feel the heat rise into my cheeks upon saying it. Vince looks a little flustered as well, and laughs awkwardly.
"W-Well, you're cute too, so maybe those same people will sponsor both of us..."
As much as I want to believe that, I know it's not true. Vince scored lower than me, lower than anyone, and he has the pity vote. I have pity as well, but not half as much compared to him. My death is just sort of a given... really...
Vince must be a mind reader, because he touches me slightly on my dress cuff and shakes his head. "Don't think about it Lili," He whispers quietly. "It's too sad."
As those bright blue eyes fill with sadness, I wonder what I could possibly say to make things better. This boy has things so much harder than I do, a lower score, a mean Sector partner, no one believing he can win... and from what I read in the pamphlet, not even a whole home to return to...
"Vince..." I begin quietly, focusing on my feet. "I-"
"Attention party guests! We have a few words from our Gamemakers!"
-eh? A cold chill runs up my spine. I didn't know that the Gamemakers were going to give speeches at this party. Everyone turns to look towards the stage, and I suddenly see not one, but all seven of the Gamemakers all lined up in little seats like some sort of assembly.
The first to stand once everyone has quietened is the tall blonde woman with full, flowing hair, and her cocktail dress is adorned with gold that seems to mimic her hair. She clears her throat with a little cough before raising her hand to the microphone- which amplifies the odd sound of tiny little bell chimes.
But there are no bells around her wrist. Odd.
"Hello to you all, I hope everyone is having a pleasant evening," Her voice is like a chime itself as she stares across us with obvious contempt. "I am Dai, one of your Gamemakers of this Quell. I would like to use this moment to express what a pleasure it is to have you in our company, and that we can make this Quell one to remember- in spite of its... unfortunate circumstances."
Wow. I wasn't expecting any of the Gamemakers to even admit to the circumstances, let alone call them 'unfortunate'. However, without so much as a blink, Dai quickly resumes her seat as the next Gamemaker- the large man with ram-horn shaped hair who had boisterously taunted me during my training session- stomps up to the microphone.
"Here's wishing to a fantastic night and an even better Quell!" He roars, feedback wailing across the room as the microphone takes a jolt. "Whoops, sorry! Anyway, I'm Aries- and I'll be making sure you all get what you deserve in these Games. Let's make 'em count!"
With a bow that slops the flagon of beer down his sleeve- the man, Aries- takes his seat and allows for the next two Gamemakers to deliver similar, short and bitter speeches about wishing the best for the games. All I really learn is that the elderly man, who speaks in a dying whisper, his name is Pestil, and the man with the toucan beak's name is 'Toco'.
-Even though they're all so humorous in name and appearance... they also command a terrible sense of fear with their presence. I don't like thinking that these men and women are in charge of my life from here on out. They don't look like the kinds who care about anything but a good show.
The pair of twin Gamemakers somehow gains a round of applause upon standing up. With short little bows, the two men look at one another before the one on the right takes hold of the microphone and begins to speak in a dry, playful sort of voice-
"Our names are Remy and Winn, and we are very glad to have had the pleasure of meeting all of you who were invited this evening," With a coy smirk, he cocks an eyebrow. '-And, of course, all of you who weren't invited~!"
Laughter. As both the young men break into snickers of their own, on the far end of the stage I see the Head Gamemaker Iilvsea Crane also begin to giggle softly.
Quickly the microphone passes to the other twin. "Thank you to everyone who made an appearance tonight. Again, we hope that this Quell proves to be as delightful to you all to watch as it will be for us to orchestrate it."
...I can recognise one difference between the two twenty-year old twins. This one has a slightly softer, lighter tone of voice, where the other one sounds drier.
With a hand of each upon the microphone, both men bow one last time. "Now, we turn the stage over to the little girl in charge- Miss Iilvsea Crane~!"
My hands tighten into fists as fear grips me on all sides. Both men bow backwards to their chairs as the girl, so small and dainty in comparison to the rest of the Gamemaking team, floats across the stage and takes a hold of the microphone, smiling blithely as the crowd throughout the room cheers and applauds wildly.
...I didn't look at her too much during my training session. When I threw that knife, I was aiming for the large man. Iilvsea Crane was just sort of there, smiling craftily nearby.
Now that she's centre stage, I'm starting to wish that if I had aimed at someone, it was her. Never before have I had such a bad feeling about someone based on sight.
"Tonight is a time for both joy and sadness," Iilvsea begins curtly, her frilly black dress bouncing as she steps forwards. "After all, we are sending our own into the arena in just one more night, twenty-three of which will never touch the Capitol again."
A definite moan escapes every sponsor in the room. Iilvsea allows this by nodding sympathetically, still holding the microphone to her face.
"-But, it is also a time for joy," her half-closed eyes catch a bit of the light, sparkling. "Because for the first time, we will be able to show the Districts that we too have as much bite as they do, as well as those in the Capitol who they themselves didn't believe we did. It is a time for learning, and a time to take a good look at ourselves... by watching these twenty-four... tributes."
Curling across her cheeks, her smile grows pointed as a silent gasp escapes my chest and disappears into the atmosphere around me while the crowd begins to cheer and applaud Iilvsea's next meaningless words.
...I... I think I get it... why this... why this is happening...
I turn to look at Vince, but his face too is showing the exact same expression that must be afflicting my own face. He has also come to the same conclusion as me. We, the youngest tributes in this Quell, finally understand.
...this Quell is a way for the Capitol to punish the rebels within its walls... before they even rebel... almost like snarling through Iilvsea's perfect white teeth-
'We do not care if you are one of us. If you fight back, we will most certainly kill you.'
-Is that why... why there are so many protestors...? Are the protestors really... rebels..?
The room bursts into roars of hysteric cheering as Iilvsea Crane takes a short, delicate bow and her team of Gamemakers all nod in unison.
"Thank you, our darling Capitol!"
Jasse Harridan; 15 years; the Capitol Sector 10.
I don't give a shit about the Gamemakers. Blah, endless blah is all I heard when that blue headed girl talked up there. It might be the alcohol in my brain or the ache in my feet, but all I want is for this goddamn party to be over.
Never before have I drank so much, and right now I'm wondering why the hell not. The smooth, bitter liquid burns on the way down and then proceeds to fuzz up my mind, leaving but a pleasant blur in my head.
Really, I can't believe how boring this party is. As the Gamemakers file off the stage, the tiny Gamemaker helped down by the hand of one of the twins, all I feel is contempt. I never really cared for the Games, since they were sort of a waste of time to get caught up in- and television wasn't something I watched a lot of- but now that I'm a tribute, I can feel almost a hundred and twenty-five years of mutual hatred for these figures bubble through me.
Though it probably should be a bad feeling, this sort of anger is sort of thrilling.
The rest of the tributes are pretty much as smashed as I am really, or at least the ones I've run into are. That guy from 4 and his girlfriend certainly are. Last I saw they were ferociously making out against a wall. Then there's the chick from 3, and even the Natalia have been taking shots of whatever comes their way.
I think it's the pressure. We all know we're going to die, so we need a bloody drink just to deal with it all. Fifteen years, coming up to sixteen- I've spent, thinking I had my whole life in front of me. I don't know, find a girl, fall in love, get a job, buy a house, have kids... that was all just a given.
And suddenly it's not.
It's obvious that I should feel more terrified, but the alcohol works. All that's left is a sense of bitterness about this whole mess. How unfair it feels to have a lifetime taken away from me just so the rest of my country can enjoy their Game.
...haven't we... been through enough?
Alright. Fine, want me to admit it? It's not me I'm upset for. It's that unfortunate Sector partner of mine. The only reason I'm upset about these Games is because of how my insides squish up in pity at the sight of her. They have from the first day, when I saw her dragged into that velvet tent by those two peacekeepers, with guts splattered up her front and her hands in tatters.
How else am I supposed to feel about it? She's my age. Evon Sanhorn's only difference from me is that she's a girl, and she had the guts to try and escape this fate.
Compared to me... I'm a coward in comparison.
That's why I can't stop worrying about her. I know she's toast in these Games, with her hands being dead and her will to fight all but crushed. On that day she told me that she doesn't believe her hands deserved to be fixed... but then that Iilvsea called her up and dashed whatever hopes she might have been hiding...
"I could fix these."
That's why when I heard that man, that 'doctor' talking to her... I began to worry.
There's no way someone as slippery as that is genuine, especially when they're willing to put themselves in danger just to pursue a 'hobby' of theirs. I held back until he left, but I heard everything.
And now that the speeches are over and midnight is fast approaching, I've been keeping an eye out for Evon anywhere. Drunk I may be, but disheartened- not the slightest. This may be her courage helping her, but I know that no good can come of this 'Doctor Galen' messing her hands up any further. I have to stop her before she puts herself in any more trouble.
No trustworthy Doctor would help a tribute without authorisation. In fact, I don't think there's any Doctor in existence that'd do something this extreme just to be nice.
Well... no Doctor in the Capitol anyhow, and especially not one who frequents Quarter Quell parties.
I just need to find her. Every moment I see a girl clad in a red dress I practically lunge at her. Whenever I see that straight black hair, I spin them around and beg her not to go through with it. And each time I do I'm met with terrified expressions of anyone but Evon.
She's terrified of dying; I know she is- more than any of us. I knew it the moment they slammed her bloody against my chest for those chariot rides.
-But she can't let that fear cloud her judgement like this-!
"Ah! U-Uhm, M-Miss are you okay? Miss! Oh god- oh god- she's not getting up-! Is there a Doctor? Is there a Doctor here?"
EVON.
Crazed, I hurtle towards the sound of the outcry. As expected of a Capitol scene, there's a crowd around the centre of attention, blocking her from my view. However that doesn't stop me from ramming my way past the gaggling group of Quell sponsors, shoving them aside with my elbow as I let my drink smash to the ground behind me.
"Evon! EVON!" I don't need to see her to know who it is. The blinding red I catch upon the ground is evidence enough. "Evon don't-! Freaking hell!"
With a final burst of energy- I slam the other person out of the way, knocking them forcefully to the ground as I lunge forwards for her. Her eyes clenched tightly shut and her teeth gritted together in what looks like pain. For a brief second I truly believe she's an excellent actor- until my eyes catch sight of a red that is certainly not part of her dress.
She must have cut the bandages open herself; the broken bottle still rocking beside her. The once white tatters are melding into the flesh, patches of blistered, dead skin revealed as it tears away. Blood has smeared itself all down her dress, her arms, everywhere.
Evon is desperate for this to be convincing. Faking her way into the Doctor's office wasn't enough for her. She wanted it to be unavoidable.
...h-how can she be so stupid?
"He's not going to help you Evon-!" I hiss furiously, gripping her tightly as her head lolls back and forth. "He's just going to screw you up even more-!"
A sharp, cold voice behind me interrupts- "Would someone get her Sector partner away from her?"
"NO!" I whirl around, eyes furious as I see him. The 'Doctor'. "I-I'm not letting you near her! I'll cut her hands off myself before I let you mess her up any further!"
The crowd is gasping and shrieking as more people gather around to view the scene unfold. Galen stares down with narrowed green eyes as I yank up my Sector partner into my arms, holding on tightly. His distaste is obvious- even to me- but I don't care. He can't do anything to make me let her go with him.
"I'm not going to mess her up." He says calmly, stepping forwards. I instinctively pull back, feeling Evon since in my arms. "Please Jasse, she needs medical attention-"
"She needed medical attention before!" I spit, unable to control my rage. "But you said she wasn't allowed to! They refused to treat her! They said she wasn't human!"
At this stage everyone around us is watching on in absolute shock and awe. Galen looks dumbstruck, but I don't care. There's no reason to anymore. What he wants to do is illegal- and if a Gamemaker were here and I shouted it out for all to hear, I'm sure that he'd be in a whole load of shit.
Somewhere in those eyes, I think he also knows that, because his teeth are slowly locking together.
"Mr. Harridan..." He says crossly, kneeling down. "Your partner is hurt... let me-"
As Galen leans forwards, I feel a surge of panic for the girl in my arms. "For the last damn time- NO-!"
But when he doesn't move backwards, I reach breaking point. All the alcohol from tonight churns in my head as the light above glints across the shiny surface of the broken bottle- and my hand snatches it by the neck.
There's no time for Galen to react as Evon's eyes snap open just in time to see me smash the bottle's jagged edges into his cheek.
"-JASSE DON'T-!"
And the screams around us does nothing to deter me as the glass rips into the man's cheek.
I won't be a coward anymore.
Francesca Emmeline von Bardot; 16 years; the Capitol Sector 3.
My head is spinning around the room. Laughter fills my ears, but I'm not sure whose it is anymore. My hands grab onto his shoulders and Holland's arms wrap around my waist as we giggle and stumble across the dance floor.
I don't know why there's any sadness in the world. This is all there is to it; a blurring cornucopia of colours and lights, laughter and emotion, nothing else.
"I think I'm seriously about to throw up-!" Holland cries as I hold his arms out at full length and twirl about him. "Chess-!"
Laughing like a maniac, I shake my head frantically. "No Holly- no throwing up! Swallow it down- I want to keep dancing-!"
For a few seconds it looks like Holly tries to do exactly that. However the moment he does, his cheeks puff red and I only just manage to spin out of control and away from the splatter as several other dancers around us groan and shriek in disgust.
Whoops? I didn't really think he was going to puke! Giggling hysterically, I make sure to side step the trail of vomit and put my arms onto my suddenly unsteady and terrified Sector partner, whispering quietly with gentle words that everything is fine.
I keep forgetting how fragile the guy is. This is his first party after all; he isn't used to keeping liquor and party food down like I am.
"I'm so, so, so sorry Holly," I croon sadly, stroking his head softly. "I thought you were just being funny..."
Holland tries to answer, but all that comes out is a sickening gurgle as a fresh surge of vomit dribbles out of his mouth. Luckily I'm not like most girls- vomit doesn't bother me much since I'm a bit of an addict of ipecac drinks, plus Mirabelle has been frequenting more parties lately- and this doesn't discourage me from cradling my poor friend.
"M-My stomach... my stomach hurts..." The boy hiccoughs desperately, tears in his eyes. "Ch-Chess my stomach... hurgh..."
"Oh, oh Holland I'm sorry-!" My heart breaks a little knowing that we could've avoided this. I shouldn't have been so silly. "Um, um-" Looking around, I notice that only a few onlookers have noticed us. The party has emptied somewhat since midnight. "Can someone help us-?"
Almost on cue, Holland is scooped up under the arms by our mentor in shining armour. Ava looks at me with an appreciative smile, perhaps thinking I wasn't the reason Holland had been drinking all night, as Lilia our escort quietly ushers both of them away, but with her free hand waves someone else over while looking at me with a concerned stare.
"I wasn't expecting the both of you to be so reckless tonight," Lilia whispers quietly, in a reprimanding motherly sort of way. "Really, with the Games in only one more day..."
Flustered, I try to find out what I could say to apologise. "I-I'm sorry, we were just having fun- hic-!"
Hiccoughs; now of all times. My face scrunches up in despair as I begin the age old trick of holding my breath and shutting my eyes tight in an effort to make the annoying things disappear. My body jolts and flinches with every one, until I hear Ava quietly ask someone-
"Could you take care of her for a bit? We'll pick her up once we've fixed up Holland..."
Fixed up? Maybe they think he's come down with something really serious other than not being able to hold his liquor. All the same, I open my eyes a squint to see who Ava is asking to 'take care' of me, but all I see is a blur of black and white as a man in his tuxedo kneels down to talk with me upon the ground.
"Miss...? Oh yeah... Ava?" He turns around, and I begin to focus on his crimson red hair. "She's definitely on the way out. Want me to sit her down somewhere?"
Ava is too quiet for me to hear, but the next thing I know I'm being lifted up by my underarms like Holland was by this strange, and as I hiccough one more time- my eyesight clears and my entire body freezes as I suddenly recognise him.
I can hardly believe it. My eyes feel like they're shaking in their sockets as I realise exactly who this crimson haired man is, almost feeling disgraced with myself for not realising it sooner-!
It's Mars, Mars Donovan from District 2; winner of the 113th Games.
With my heart beating rapidly, I reach forwards to check that this is truly real. Sure enough, his face mixes with confusion as my hand grips the buttons of his dress shirt, and a gasp escapes my lips.
"It's really you."
He pulls out of my reach, gently taking my hand and resting it back against my side- but my fingers remain locked where they had grasped his clothes. I touched Mars Donovan. The man I've had a schoolgirl crush on since I was only four years old. Mars Donovan is standing in front of me- and I touched him-
"I think you should sit down Miss," His yellow eyes stare out from underneath the mess of scraggly brown hair. "You've had a bit too much to drink..."
As he takes me by the arm and guides me to a chair, I can't help but blurt it out. "You're Mars Donovan!"
He smiles a bit at this, but it looks pained. "Yes, that's me."
I can't control the squeal that erupts out of me before I can stop it. Gripping his arm closer to mine and pushing my side into his, I grin wider than I ever have in my entire life.
This is the stuff girls dream about; running into their favourite celebrity and being touched and even held by them. The butterflies in my stomach begin to flutter in circles in my chest- tingling everything inside me right down to my toes.
It's really Mars. It's really him.
"You've had a bit too much to drink," He says quietly, pulling out a chair at one of the now empty group tables. "So you sit here, and I'll get you some water-"
"Eh?" I lurch in my seat as he moves away. "B-But I'm not thirsty! And I-I'd really like to talk to you Mars-! I'm your biggest fan-!"
The man looks a little taken aback by these words, though I can't possibly understand why that'd be. Since he won when he was fourteen and he's now twenty-six- that's twelve years he's had to get used to girls like me having colossal crushes on him! I can't honestly be the first, can I?
My heart pounds as Mars decidedly resigns himself over to a seat, sitting down beside me quietly. "Go ahead then. What do you want to talk about?"
Butterflies skipping about inside me, a million questions and wonderments twirl in my head. What do I say? What should I ask? This is the man I've had a crush on since I was four years old. I don't care that he's ten years older than me! I've waited so long to see him- and now that he's here, staring at me with those amber yellow eyes- I don't know what to say-! B-But he's staring at me- he must think I'm an idiot for not being able to construct a basic rudimentary conversation! Say something Francesca! Say something-!
"I-I really like your hair-!"
Almost immediately I wish I hadn't said anything, because Mars first looks surprised, then he snorts and begins to laugh quietly. Cheeks burning with embarrassment, I stare down at my hands gripping the fabric of my dress for support.
Great, nice going Chess. You meet your one dream guy and you screw it up. Of course you would you bubbly little idiot. Ugh... I'm so stupid-! Why! Why didn't I just say nothing-?
"You're pretty chipper for a tribute, aren't you?" I shiver as that enticing, rugged voice chortles beside me. "That's a nice change."
"E-Eh...?" I blink repeatedly. "Um... I guess so... everyone's been saying I'm really optimistic..."
"Hm? Is that so..." Mars looks toward the ceiling, smiling slightly. "...why would that be? Have you got a lucky charm or something?"
"No, I haven't got a token or anything." My smile falters at this. It's been something that has been secretly bothering me a bit the past few days. "I sort of wish I had something lucky though..."
"Well, maybe this'll help then-"
By the time I look up, Mars is already holding the knife up to his face. I squeak in alarm- but then I realise he's steadying it by the side of his hair. I watch on in wonder as he holds a pinch of his hair then brings the knife to it and cuts it off. I'm still staring on in surprise as he pulls my hand forth and puts the small lock of his hair in my palm, now wrapped up neatly in the table's serviette.
"Well now you have one. You said you liked it right?" Mars smirks dryly, possibly knowing that I had spouted that out by accident. "Think of it as a lucky charm then."
I don't know what to say. Dumb with awe I stare down at the serviette, knowing that I now own a lock of Mars Donovan's hair- something I've been subconsciously craving like any crazed fan has for thirteen years.
"I... I'll take care of it-!" I stammer, looking up at him with wide eyes. "Thank you! Thank you so much!"
As he rises to his feet, Mars Donovan leaves me with not one, but two tokens I will treasure for the rest of my life. The first being wrapped up neatly in my hand.
The second being the warm smile that no television camera has ever caught before.
Koriana Rebexa Wilder; 15 years; the Capitol Sector 8.
This is a mistake. I have no idea what I'm doing up here.
He's a friend of Diego's, one of those 'friends' that he seemed to be so enthralled to have. He's the boy who scored the highest out of all us tributes, and the one who caused one of the biggest scandals I've ever seen during the chariot rides.
Marshall Matthews whistles slightly as he plugs chords into amplifiers and scrawls out sheet music like it was a second language. The microphone in my hand is stone cold yet seems to burn as I feel all the eyes of the ballroom resting on my back.
When he pulled me into the closed bathroom, I was mortified. After all, what little experience I had with boys- and I'm talking little to no experience- warned me that when I'm getting dragged into a room by force, I'm about to get ravaged.
Luckily, the boy who I recently just remembered is a whole year younger than I am cleared up that misconstrued thought by telling me that all he wanted was-
"For you to get up on stage and sing a song with me."
At which point I snorted in laughter until I realised he was being serious.
I'm not a singer. The best I ever sung was at a karaoke night when I was six and that was because everyone thought I was adorable in my party dress and I felt I couldn't do any wrong that night. Since then, all I've ever done on stage is standing up in the middle of a dramatic arts lesson and crying 'attention must be paid~!'... which I'll admit is the only line I remember from that particular play, because it was pretty boring.
But Marshall was pretty convincing, obviously- since I'm standing up here with him, dreading the moment when the stage lights blare up again. He told me how if he could trust anyone with this act, it'd be me- based on Diego's strong opinion that I'm a... what was it? 'Trustworthy girl.'
It's weird hearing that Diego talks about me, but I guess when you're a tribute in a Game to the death, you spend a lot of time talking about the people who might be the death of you.
Though Marshall seems fairly sure that he's made the right choice with me. There's not a line or a crease of worry in his expression, and if anything he looks like he's sitting on top of the world, tinkering with an automated speaker system and casting the occasional glance to the screen it's hooked up to.
His song is not one I have heard before- possibly because it might be one of his own- but Marshall was adamant that the prompter at the foot of the stage would be more than enough for me.
"It'll be just like karaoke- only a lot more important, you get me?"
Why exactly it's important I don't understand, except that he wants to get 'a message' across to this entire sponsor mixer not to overlook everyone for Natalia.
I should've said no. Heck, right now as I stand here I'm thinking I should turn around and say no. After all, I said I wouldn't play this game. But I can't- like declining this will be turning down an opportunity of rebellion. I read the lyrics and, though I don't understand them as well as I think I ought to, they somehow smack of defiance. They would be the perfect way to announce that I won't be willing to go along willingly with these games.
Even if this is just a way for Marshall to piss off Natalia, if I could reassure just one or two of the people in this room that I'm not just another tribute, then there's hope.
...though there's a very strong chance that all anyone will see is the girl whose underwear was showing on the chariot rides, and that everyone in this party is too boozed up to recognise an attempt at rebel commentary.
"Hey," Marshall catches my attention with a wave of his hand. "You ready Kori'?"
Already he's so easy with me that he uses a nickname. Swallowing the lump of nerves in my throat, I nod, and Marshall grins eagerly.
There's a click and a short buzz of electrical feedback as he hooks up his guitar. "Don't worry; I know what you're thinking- and it'll soon tell them what we're all thinking."
How the hell can he know what I'm thinking when I myself am struggling just to figure it out? Marshall grins coyly before flicking on the final switches and grabbing a microphone- commanding the attention of all the party goers who have remained in the room.
"Yo', hello everyone!" With a voice filled with promise, Marshall grins eagerly. "Marshall and Kori' here! Hoping you're all having fun here-!"
There's something in the way Marshall talks so confidently that says that he's done this many more times than I could possibly fathom. The crowd begins to swell around the stage, and here and there I begin to see and recognise faces. Corbin, Diego, Natalia...
-And even Iilvsea Crane and her goons...
"Now our dear Natalia- there she is! Say hi to Natalia! We all heard her wonderful song a couple of hours ago for those of you drunks who've forgotten. Now her song was fantastic- but I don't think it represents the rest of us tributes, 'ey? So Sector 8's Koriana Wilder will perform the song that's in the rest of our hearts!"
What the...? I can feel my eye twinge. Not only is he not letting me have a word in, he's talking in such a corny way! Can guys actually spout this sort of crap and mean it? Whatever the case, Natalia looks pretty pissed- and I can see smiles of delight spread across the rest of the crowd's faces.
...oh god... I better not screw this up...
"So, without further ado- Kori' – if you please-!"
Marshall jumps behind the keyboard before I can even realise. He spent a good minute telling me that the second his fingers hit the keys- I start. So I leap in, a good second before he even begins- wincing as I try to keep up with the fast paced piano keys that Marshall plays with more fluency than I could've believed-
Once more in my chest, I offer up the sinking love,
as if we're tied together, this story without a composer starts to turn-
Breathing deep, I pray that I can continue this on without fail. 'Damon... Marabeth...' I pray desperately 'Give me the power to sing this-!'
I struggle against this empty reality,
the tune of recollections echoes behind the closed door.
Destroying the vague borderline, the ideals I upheld by myself,
they are memories of a definite sin that emerges in the distant dusk
There's cheering. Even so, the fear of failing burns so hard that I can hardly stand to keep my eyes open. I shut them tight, trying to recapture that feeling of absolute certainty I had when I was just a child.
If I can hold that certainty, I can do this. If I can do this, I can hold onto my resolution. I can fight these Games. I can stay true to what I promised.
Hesitation and confusion reflect my weaknesses,
the pulse of life withers away and collapses.
On my return whose end I cannot see, I grieved in loneliness by myself.
Drops of sin stream down my face, so much that my fears are about to flee.
RELEASE IT-!
In my head, I can hear Marshall egging me on. Damon and Marabeth plead me not to give up on myself. The cheers of the crowd become deafening as I finally gain the courage to open my eyes and sing the final lines- the true message- the tribute's real heart- to the entire world.
Let the Capitol hear it.
While her eyes remained shut, the princess continued to sleep,
even the voices of conviction and pain afflicting my body are dear.
Over thousands of journeys, I came to save you-!
I won't let this cruel fate interfere with our promised finale-!"
If we can share this despair, then I'll trade everything I desire for that future-!"
The whispers of dreams is swallowed by shadows,
the momentary prayer is wavering,
what gushes forth is just a faded compensation; I only want your smile!
Ah, and embrace my entire heart...!
...
As the final notes fly into a frenzy, Marshall amplifying my final, wavering note- I allow myself to truly open my eyes and face the crowd as they hear it...
Most of them are smiling still. Some are wild for more. Several tributes and mentors are staring up in surprise- perhaps not understanding the flourish of the words. Natalia certainly doesn't look happy, not when Marshall looks down at her with a nasty sneer. I can barely keep myself from giggling- it's hard not to be happy- but as I continue to look around my eyes fall upon the one audience member I had forgotten completely about.
The Head Gamemaker, Iilvsea Crane... stares up at me... and no longer is she smiling. My heart freezes as I recognise her hands balled up into fists, and her teeth clenched together in what might've been anger, had there not been tears streaming down her face in what could only be sheer agony.
"...what...?"
...Slowly, I begin to think the unbelievable...
If... a song like this could upset her so much... which of its words could possibly... upset Iilvsea Crane this much...?
Laco Sykora; 17 years; the Capitol Sector 5.
I had thought that Ari would have cheered up slightly after Natalia was trumped by her Sector partner, but if anything, Marshall's song has just caused her to sink deeper into the melancholy that is surrounding her.
There's nothing I can do to help. I've accepted this, and as much as it pains me to see a girl who I want to see smile so upset, I won't force her to be happy when she clearly isn't.
"Would you like another drink?" I suggest after a few moments of silence, pointing to an Avox holding aloft a tray of fruity red drinks. "It uh... might take your mind off things?"
Ari says nothing. Instead she just continues to stare at her white heels, deep in thoughts I couldn't ever hope to penetrate- no matter how hard I might try to be someone she can rely on without fail.
Perhaps this sort of level of devotion unsettles her. Either that or she's having second thoughts about our alliance... which wouldn't surprise me. Though I stood up for her so boldly back in the training room- she could easily dismiss that as an elaborate front...
I learned long ago that there is no way of convincing a girl of your honest feelings if they believe otherwise. After trying and failing, I learned the hard way. And to be completely honest, I'd rather not go down that road again when I have imminent death staring me in the face.
"...do you want me to leave you alone?"
The Capitol idol jerks up in surprise. "Huh? Oh, Laco no, no don't... I'm just... the song from before reminded me a bit too much about an old friend of mine..."
My eyebrow rises. "Would that be the one behind that dove tattoo?"
A stunned look upon her face, I try hard not to smile bitterly as her mouth sags a little in complete surprise at my accuracy. Though, in my defence, it was an obvious answer.
"How did you-?"
"Ari, you have a tattoo on your leg depicting the 'Dove of Peace'," I shake my head, acting insulted at her surprise. "I hardly have you picked as a rebel. It's for someone else who was, isn't it?"
It's the harshest thing I've said since meeting her. Though it didn't strike me while I said it that calling her 'not rebel material' could've insulted her, luckily all it did was make her look a little bit harder at her feet- her ankle- before looking back up at me blankly.
Sometimes I wish I wasn't as intuitive as I am.
This isn't one of those times.
"...yeah... I'm not a rebel..." Ari's face sinks into a look of despair. "...not anymore."
"Anymore?" Quietly but gently, I begin to guide her over to a seat where we can talk comfortably. "When were you ever?"
Though she looks uncomfortable with the question, perhaps our slowly strengthening bond of alliance is growing on her- because Ari is actually answering my questions, as personal as they may be.
"You can't tell anyone," She begins, a little sternly. "My Dad would... oh what would it matter anyway... I guess you could tell anyone you damn well wanted... but... a long time ago I met... well I met this boy and... he was... he was a-"
"Rebel." I finish for her, earning a frown in response.
Continuing, she purses her lips a little. "Well, yeah. His name was 'Namer'... it means leopard..." Ari adds, going a little red realising how little this matters. "Well uh... I became friends with him after he ran into me and knocked me over... long story... but it turns out he... Namer..."
Never before have I seen someone having this much difficulty getting out words. Especially Ari, who always seemed so eloquent in her language up until now.
"...he was from District 13."
My body goes stiff with surprise. Staring at Ari, I wait for her to clear up the misconception- but she just sits there and waits for me to take it in.
-She met a boy from District 13? She's kidding isn't she? My mouth opens and closes as I try to find the right words to make her confirm that mistake.
Slowly, the words come out in a slow string. "...but... District 13 was blown up... a century ago...?"
Ari shakes her head. "It wasn't."
My brain is spinning. Suddenly the story of Ari and her rebel friend doesn't matter. All I can focus on is this sudden onset of potentially nation destroying information. Every child in every school- District and Capitol alike- is raised to know the story about the origins of the Hunger Games. And it always begins with the rebellion- and ends with the destruction of District 13. They show the footage of the destroyed District every year! How could they fake something like that? There's just no way.
...but... but Ari can't be lying... the tears in her eyes and the seriousness in her voice... I refuse to believe that she could be lying about something this serious...!
"But they said they destroyed District 13." I begin desperately, wide eyed and blank. "What? The Capitol- the Capitol just lied?"
"Yes." Ari Saint-Claire says seriously, not skipping a beat. "They lied."
...
...but...
"...but why would they lie?"
That's when Ari finally shakes her head sadly. "I don't know. I never asked, and Namer said he didn't know."
Conflicting statements there, but I believe her when she says something while looking that desolate. Talking about this seems to be as painful for her as it is mind blowing for me to hear.
"Well... what happened to Namer?" I ask, leaning forwards in a whisper. "Why did you decide to stop being a rebel with him?"
Moments pass as Ari stares out across the dwindling crowd. The bulk of the party has long since gone home after midnight, and all that are left are the tributes, mentors and the fence-sitting sponsors. With a shaky sigh, she looks up from the crowd and back to me, eyes dead on mine.
"...they took him away Laco."
...lips trembling, Ari slowly begins to break at the shoulders- covering her face with her hands as droplets of tears begin to pull away the strong facade she had spent so long holding up these past few days. Frantic and unsure what to do- I put my arms around her, hushing her quietly as she begins to sob.
"...d-don't... don't leave me..." Her voice shatters into broken cries. "Please... d-don't be t-taken away too..."
Pressing my chin on top of her head, I close my eyes and continue to quietly hush her tears, holding her close to my heart.
"Shhh... I won't... not yet Ari..."
...but I will... someday... Ari, I have to leave you...
...because when we get into that arena... the moment it looks like death has come for you as well... I'll take him down instead for you... okay..?
"Shhh..."
Capitol Question #012; do you think 'favouritism' towards tributes affects Gamemakers' judgements? Would it affect you if you were a Gamemaker?