AN: Moving right along, here are the first four tribute POVs in the Capitol. Again, to help keep the plot moving, an "event" will usually be covered by only 1-2 POVs, though others will often mention it later on.
I've been in a bit of a writing mood lately, so I hope to cut down the time between updates. Thanks to everyone who's still following the story. Your comments are greatly appreciated as well!
Connor Merlyn / 18 / District Six Male
The Capitol skyline disappears into blackness as the train enters a tunnel, which Lavinia explains will lead them into the city to a station under the Training Center. Connor closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, knowing that from the moment they arrive, there will be cameras everywhere. He needs to connect with the crowd and draw in sponsors because there isn't a chance he'll survive this thing otherwise. All that wealth and influence his family enjoyed back home – they mean nothing now, perhaps save for some name recognition within certain circles.
The train emerges from the tunnel into an exceptionally well-lit open area, with the ground, walls, and escalators all painted white. The crowd on the platform is a mix of bright colors, certainly not ones you'd see people wearing in Six, the whole scene making Connor squint a little.
With the train slowing down, the crowd greets the pair from Six with thunderous cheering, some carrying banners and placards featuring their names. While Connor marvels at the sight, Thorin gets up and begins waving back at them, smiling widely and with her other hand brought up to her chest.
She looks totally comfortable, Connor notices, which was somewhat unexpected given how curt her responses have been on the way here.
He joins her in waving. "Looks like we have a lot of fans."
"I'm pretty sure they do this for every district," she replies, not taking her eyes off the people gathered outside.
"This way, you two," Lavinia calls from the doorway, gesturing them towards her.
The train doors open up to the full sound of the crowd, no longer muffled by the walls of the car, and to an immaculate red carpet flanked by peacekeepers on either side. Thorin takes the first steps off the train as she continues to respond well to the Capitolites' energy. Connor quickly catches up to her, taking in everything that's shouted in his direction. Some are simply welcoming him to the Capitol, while others mention how much they bet on him winning the Games. And that reminds him: everything here – the posters, banners, kids on parents' shoulders – it's all part of the impending deathmatch. It frightens him to see how these people have turned it into such a joyous affair, though of course none of this is news to him.
With Lavinia and their mentors not far behind them, the pair approach the end of the carpet where they enter a glass elevator. As it ascends, the gathered Capitolites below grow smaller as they turn their attention to the next train pulling into the station.
"We're headed to the third floor," explains Lavinia. "You'll meet your stylists and prep teams, and they'll get you ready for the parade. Exciting, isn't it?"
Connor and Thorin both ignore her, preferring to stare into the darkness of the elevator shaft now that they've risen above the atrium.
Their mentors, Lila and Velo, bid them farewell for now while Lavinia leads the pair of tributes down a rather dim hallway into a conference room of sorts, containing about a dozen black office chairs surrounding a long table.
"They'll be with you shortly," says Lavinia. "Have fun!"
She leaves the room and a half-second later, there's the unmistakable sound of the door being locked.
"So what's the deal?" asks Connor, neither of the tributes taking a seat. "What happened to the quiet and shy girl from the train?"
"I used to perform shows," Thorin replies hesitantly. "By the big clock in Waterford Park. But I doubt you ever go into that part of town."
"Did I do something to—"
"No, Connor, you didn't do anything. I'm just not here to make friends."
"You're here to survive, I know. But just think about this – you and me, we'd work well together. We can win the crowd over."
"I'm sure they'll favor you, seeing as how you're just like them," she spits back, still not bothering to look in Connor's direction.
"I didn't ask for any of this, ok? It's not my fault that my family's got money," he replies. "Look, I'm not asking to become friends, or even for you to like me, but we need those people out there to support us whether we like it or not."
There's a prolonged silence in the room before Thorin responds.
"Fine," she says. "We'll put on a show for them."
Sett Nielus / 18 / District Two Male
"It could be worse," Shae remarks as the two of them climb onto their chariot.
And she's right. Despite how ridiculously heavy the outfit is, it's relatively dignified. The two are dressed in a suit of armor made from limestone plates. Sett swears he's seen something like it before in a book, though it would certainly be from an era long past. Shae's variant is slightly more form-fitting and less clunky than his, but similar enough in the end. Thankfully, their stylists had decided to forego any headpiece this year.
From what Sett remembers, tributes from Two tend to have good luck when it comes to chariot costumes. The theme usually revolves around the district industry of masonry, plus the field Two finds itself gravitating towards – security. Naturally, this means the outfits rarely look all that humiliating compared to a district whose chief industry is livestock, for example. Sett snickers as he watches the Ten pair get in their chariot, the two looking like giant wads of raw wool.
Once all the tributes are situated, a buzzer goes off and the horses begin to pull forward.
"Here we go," whispers Shae.
"This is the worst part of the whole thing" Sett comments. "Assuming you don't die in the arena, of course."
"Why? All you have to do is stand there and listen to the speech."
"Exactly."
The quiet of the staging area is soon replaced by the deafening cheers of the Capitol crowd. Sett can still hear Harper's high-pitched voice in his head: "Over 100,000 will be in attendance!"she'd said more than enough times.
As instructed by their mentors Clove and Marius, the pair from Two wave with their outside hand and hold onto the chariot with the other. All around them, the crowd showers the Avenue with flowers as the procession continues its journey from the Training Center to the Presidential Mansion.
When they reach the building, the twelve chariots form a semicircle along the driveway, with Avoxes coming out to guide the horses. President Greenleaf stands on a third-floor balcony above them, wearing an elegant white dress with gold accents, her figure projected onto several giant screens along the Avenue.
With a subdued wave, she quickly silences the crowd.
"Citizens of Panem, thank you for joining me tonight for what marks the beginning of a very important few weeks. And to our 24 tributes, welcome to the Capitol. I know you have a lot of preparation work to go through over the next few days, so I'll try to keep my remarks brief.
I believe the Hunger Games mean something special to each one of us. To me, it's the sacrifice above all else. It's no secret that this nation has had its share of chaos and bloodshed in the past – periods of darkness, suffering, and death. But I look around at the peace we have now – such precious peace – and I think of you, dear tributes. Panem's stability today is due to your sacrifice. You are the atonement and reconciliation. You are the difference."
The Capitol crowd applauds, as do some of the tributes, Sett notably not being among them. The speakers along the Avenue then blast Panem's national anthem as the tributes return to the Training Center.
"It was a nice speech," says Shae as she's getting out of the chariot.
"That's one word for it," responds Sett. "She's on some next-level bullshit if you ask me."
"You know, Sett, I sometimes find it hard to believe you're a Career from Two given how you sound like some outer rebel scum."
Her abrupt change in tone has his attention now. He shouldn't be surprised after all – you don't become Two's selected volunteer by being soft.
"Oh I'm a Career alright. I just haven't been brainwashed during my training like you Academy regulars. I'm in this for myself and myself only, not for some district pride crap or whatever."
Shae scoffs. "Well, I guess we'll see how well your alternative training has prepared you."
"That we will," he replies. "And you'll be glad you're allying with me."
The motivations aren't all that important in the end, as long as everyone is on a similar level of competency. And Sett can't risk alienating his allies so early on. At the end of the day, he only needs to remember three things: play the game, don't get attached, and show no mercy. These rules shall guide him home.
Gail Wildrop / 16 / District Eleven Female
She's retreated to the comfort of her bedroom since Amaryllis won't stop pacing around the common area. Gail can sympathize with her though, as she's been given another two hopeless tributes, serving as a lone mentor with an absentee escort. If Eleven doesn't produce a victor in these Games – and it won't – then Amaryllis will have to go through all of this again next year. It's definitely not a good position to find yourself in, but at least she gets to live.
In just a few days, this unassuming girl from Eleven will be thrown into some arena to fight for her life. Gail expects to find herself in more of a panic, but instead, she's just sitting back against the wall by the tall window, overlooking the Capitol's nighttime skyline. Below them, the Avenue is almost deserted now, with only a few Avoxes staying behind to clean up the stands. She was down there only a few hours ago, holding onto the chariot for dear life, the wind rushing through her long hair and the massive crowd cheering them on. She and Taimi were clothed up to the neck in a soft green fabric surrounded by a tangle of vines and branches, complete with fake berries. It was actually kind of neat, Gail thought, and certainly better than most of the costumes Eleven's had in the recent past. Amid all the fanfare and for the briefest of moments, she had forgotten that she was here to die. The president had reminded her as she talked about sacrifice in her brief speech, a great idea as long as someone else is being sacrificed. And if that's the case, why can't they just get on with it. Indeed, part of her wishes that she could be launched into the arena tomorrow morning, so she wouldn't have to endure this drawn-out charade any longer. It's absurd to think that a few sessions of training would make a difference for her or any of the other tributes who don't stand a chance, like her diminutive 13-year-old district partner.
There's a knock at the door and Gail hesitates before answering. Could it be Amaryllis? Or perhaps even Adalyn?
"Come in."
"It's only me," says Taimi as he opens the door. "You kinda left in a hurry so I just wanted to make sure everything was okay."
"I'm fine, just a bit tired," Gail replies. "You can sit if you want."
As usual, this'll likely be a long night for her, with most of it to be spent alone. Surely a little small talk can't hurt now.
"Thanks. It's just that Amaryllis is making me nervous. She means well—"
"But isn't all that helpful," Gail finishes.
"Yeah, that. I also wanted to ask you something though."
"Let me guess, about an alliance?"
"You interested?"
"I don't think it's a good idea, Taimi, not for me at least."
"But don't you think we'd have a better chance together?"
"You know what I did all day back home in Eleven? I picked strawberries and put 'em in a basket. And all of a sudden I'm supposed to go from that to killing other kids? I can't do it. I know I can't. I'd only be a burden to whoever I'm with, and that's the bottom line."
Taimi is clearly disappointed, and it only hurts her more.
"I know that's how you feel now," he says. "But things will be different once the Games begin."
"That's what Amaryllis told you too, isn't it. They need us to believe that so we put effort into this whole thing and make it more entertaining for them."
"And besides, killing isn't the only way to go about it."
"Really now? When's the last time someone won the Games without a single kill?"
"I—I don't know, but—"
"Look, Taimi," she cuts him off. "If I change my mind, I'll know where to find you."
He lowers his head. "Alright then. We still have a few days left anyway."
With that, he exits the room, leaving Gail alone with her thoughts once again. She's impressed with the way Taimi's taking all this so far, but sooner or later he'll come to the same realization she's had: that Eleven doesn't have a chance in hell this year.
Ryba Pierce / 18 / District Four Female
Sitting back with her feet on the couch, Ryba clutches a chilled bottle of white wine in one hand, drips of condensation forming dark spots on the velvet.
"You'll have to lead this thing," she says to Terrance, who's sitting on a stool at the kitchen island. "One told me they're not interested, and clearly neither of the pair from Two have the personality for it."
"I can handle it," he responds coolly.
"Of course. Nobody would expect Terrance Koda to pass up an opportunity like this."
"I'm not the only one with a reputation here, you know."
"You're the only one here who cares about their reputation."
Everyone at the DSA knows about Terrance and his love for the performative aspects of the Games. And though she isn't a fan of his personally, Ryba recognizes how useful it'll be to have him by her side.
"But enough about that. The girl from Seven, Carissa, came up to me earlier saying that she wants in."
If it were up to her, Ryba would certainly refuse. Having an additional tribute in the Careers can only mean two things: another competitor who'll be kept alive, and another person to stab you in the back. But decision-making has never been her strong suit, hence why she'll have Terrance call the shots.
"Tell her we'll need to watch her during training," he replies. "See if she really has something to contribute."
"You can tell her yourself. I'm sure it'll mean a lot more coming from the leader of the Careers."
She's expecting some comeback from him, but Terrance just smiles at her.
"You know, there's something I've always admired about you."
"Save it, Terrance. I'm not into guys."
"It's not like that. I mean your commitment, the way you train. I remember seeing you throwing spears in the field way after dark. I wanted to be as dedicated as you."
Commitment. That's an interesting way of putting it.
"All for the glory of District Four, am I right?"
"You sound sarcastic."
"I'm not trying to be," says Ryba as she takes another sip. "Can't imagine why you'd think that."
He chuckles. "Well, I think I'll call it a night. We have a big day ahead of us tomorrow, getting the team together for the first time and whatnot."
A bunch of people who only stand to benefit from each other's deaths – some team that is.
"Night then."
He leaves Ryba alone in the common area, the only sound coming from an oversized wall clock ticking away on the opposite side of the room. The wine is just about gone and there's nobody to fetch her a glass of water as all the Avoxes have left for the night. At some point, the expensively furnished suite in the Training Center is replaced by the field behind the main DSA building. A small red target sits in the grass about 30 yards away from her. Earlier, a few trainees had come out to jog around the track, but Ryba's been alone under the floodlights for a while now, utterly soaked from head to toe.
"You hit that target three times, and then you can eat."
Her father had placed a small video camera under some tarp to verify that she indeed hits the target three times. The first had come easily enough, perhaps within twenty tries. The second took quite a while longer once it started to pour. And now, hours later, that third hit continues to elude her as the rain blocks her vision, the temperature also having fallen quite a bit. At this rate, she won't be able to get much sleep before the DSA's morning session begins.
Ryba heads downfield to where the spear is, the last throw having just grazed the side of the target, missing the center by about a foot. Walking back to her starting spot, she hopes with all her heart that this next throw will be the one. She begins the run-up, winds her right arm back, and prepares to release. But her foot slips and she's thrown back into the mud while still holding onto the spear.
"I wanted to be as dedicated as you."
Ryba jolts awake on the couch, not a spear in her hand but an empty bottle of wine, not rain in her eyes but tears.