Chapter II, Capitol: Last Rites
- Six Feet Under -
The Twenty-Fifth Hunger Games
The Baptism of Limos
Cal Luner, District Eleven Male
Cal couldn't stop his teeth from chattering.
Arms wound tight around his torso, Cal's anxious eyes scanned the entire cathedral from top to bottom, passing each dark, shrouded face that stood idly on the sidelines. The tall, stone columns and glittering windows were something that District Eleven just did not have.
At any other time, Cal would take a moment to appreciate the wonders before his eyes.
Except the thick, red sludge — that vaguely crossed his mind as blood — sliding down his sodden pyjamas, freezing him to the bone and pooling at his feet, brought him back to the reality of his situation.
I just want to go home.
It's all he could think about — his derelict home that hid every secret that he dared not tell his Momma about.
The thought of his Momma made his eyes well up. He was sixteen — he knew he should've been braver and stronger — but the thought of her alone without him made him feel sick to his stomach.
"You have been reborn!"
The final boy climbed down the steps. His blonde hair was dyed red, his lips pulled back in an angry grimace. His glower at each boy soon made its way to settle on Cal and he froze like a deer in headlights.
He looked just like… like…
The name died on his tongue, but somehow, the fear that Cal's shoulders tighten until they hurt.
"Tributes. Limos has blessed you with a second opportunity at life. She has decided you are worthy of sacrificing yourself to show your gratitude to all that She has done for us."
Second opportunity? Cal briefly thought, trying to focus on something other than the dark, depressive thoughts that clung to the edges of his mind. What's that supposed to mean? Are they implying that dying will be a greater chance at life?
Cal wasn't a religious person — District Eleven's religious sect was far and few between — but he did remember the people that knocked on his door and asked him questions. That day, though, his Momma's arthritis was bad and Cal needed to get medicine and…
His thoughts vanished again.
I'm so stupid. Stupid, stupid. He continuously berated himself. He couldn't remember anything. He tried so desperately to remember the small details of his life, and yet, everything slipped through his fingers like sand. Small granules of memories that just… didn't exist.
Why?
Why can I not remember anything?
The door behind them opened with a loud creak. Cal turned around instinctively, still cold. A unit of sisters walked in an orderly fashion, their faces emotionless. Behind them, however, was the female tributes. Each was dunked in the same red liquid as the boys. Their faces ranged from confusion to anger to fear.
"The female tributes! Excellent! Please talk amongst yourselves."
The two groups merged together. Cal smiled as honestly as he could as Isla found her way to him.
The pair of them were effectively strangers, but Cal saw a kindred spirit in her. They were cut from the same cloth. Two younger, dejected tributes from the outer district. Their chances were slim. Their lives were about to be cut short. Cal knew it… he sensed Isla felt the same.
"How are you?" Cal asked, wincing at his own stupidity.
"I'm fine," Isla's eyes were blown like saucers.
"Same," Cal nodded. I'm not.
"Do you think it's blood?" Isla asked, sparing Cal a glance before looking down at the floor.
Cal gulped. His throat suddenly felt thick. It was one thing to think about it, but to say it? "Yeah… I guess so… what else could it be?"
Isla shrugged, "I'm not sure. It's… cold. Colder than it should be."
Cal's eyes widened. She was right. It was cold… and blood wasn't normally cold, was it? Cal didn't want to think about it. His eyes tried to look anywhere else but at the liquid on their bodies. He saw the other tributes talking quietly. Pairs, groups, small sections of familiarity and bonding.
We have no hope, Cal thought dejectedly when he realised that him and Isla were probably the youngest. Every tribute around them looked older, smarter, bigger, broader, scarier…
"We're the youngest here, I think," Isla broke the silence.
Cal's eyes found the people on the sidelines again, silently observing them, before he looked back at Isla. "I was just thinking the same thing."
Isla cracked a glimmer of a smile, "We must be more alike than we know."
Cal's heart swelled. He didn't know why Isla made him feel less alone, but her mere presence was a small comfort in an otherwise scary situation. Maybe the pair of them needed each other more than they cared to admit.
"Dora told us to stick together as much as possible," Cal recalled their mentor's famous last words before she left them.
"Kaija said the same," Isla nodded, "I guess we should."
Even if one of us can win… and our chances are even worse. The dark thoughts slowly broke through Cal's exterior comfort and he sniffed, trying to hide the onslaught of tears that were desperate to escape.
"Are you still cold?"
"Freezing," Cal half-lied.
"Same," Isla smiled shyly, "It doesn't help we're wearing very little—"
"Tributes! It is time for the parade!"
Everyone looked up expectantly. The man whose lips didn't seem to move was stood at the top of the stairs of the tub, looking down upon them all. That's when Cal realised that, at some point, everyone from the sidelines had vanished. Their shrouded, expressionless faces were gone.
To the left, two large doors opened up. The faint smell of fresh rain hit Cal's nose and he smiled, a flash of a memory crossing his mind. He could almost feel the yellowed, wet grains against his arms as he ran home from school, backpack shielding his head.
I just want to go home.
But I can't. I have to win… Cal looked at Isla who wasn't paying attention. She was listening to the pitter patter of the rain outside. I have to win this… somehow.
"Praise Limos!"
Cosette Fabray, District Four Female
"Praise Limos," Cosette whispered, staring out the door.
Unlike many of the others, Cosette was unfazed by the baptism. She admittedly was shocked and gasped, nostrils and lungs burning as she was submerged, but she wouldn't let the others see that momentary panic. When she rose from the bloody pool in front of the other girls, she remained expressionless.
Slowly, the tributes began to file towards the door, shoaling together like small fish.
Cosette walked alongside Roman, his face pulled back in a grimace as he attempted to salvage his hair from being completely ruined.
"This shit better come out when I wash it," Roman complained under his breath.
Cosette ignored him.
"It's so sticky too," Roman continued.
They all stopped just short of the door. The sisters guarded it, but behind them, Cosette could hear the patter of something other than rain.
"Please stand with your district partner."
Cosette saw Roman look at her from the corner of his eye. The pair of them held no love for each other. Cosette didn't know him — Roman didn't care to know about her — but their small, short conversations had been polite.
"Guess we're stuck together," Roman commented dryly.
"It would seem that way," Cosette replied, trying to at least keep the peace. It was nothing against Roman personally — she just wasn't interested.
The tributes mingled and put themselves in their pairs. Slowly, they were guided out into the rain, one pair at a time.
When the rain lightly fell against Cosette's face, her lips pulled into a smile. The rain was peaceful. It made Cosette appreciate the small details of Limos' will and power.
When Limos saved the lands of Panem from drought after the war, she brought forth a storm that lasted twelve consecutive days. The ground flourished with life. Flowers blossomed. Fruit ripened. Cattle fattened.
Praise Limos.
Cosette's fingers curled around the small pearl necklace that was hung around her neck. It didn't remind her of home or her unfaithful family. It reminded her of Limos' love. A love that swaddled Cosette through every issue in her life.
Somewhere above, a clap of thunder resonated in the streets below, and Cosette froze.
She was suddenly taken back to a place in her head. The clap of thunder. The crack of leather. It happened so fast that Cosette was already standing besides the majestic horse that awaited her before she even made any sense of her epiphany.
What was that?
She tried to hide her alarm as Roman looked at her expectantly.
"What?"
"Ladies first," Roman said charmingly.
A small carriage was tied to the horse. Cosette walked around and stood up onto it, unsure of what to make of it. Roman was soon by her side — hardly a comfort.
Neither said a word. Cosette watched as the other tributes passed them in their pairs. A girl with short, choppy hair and a small boy with curls. A tall, awkward-looking boy and a tomboy. Everyone seemed so different to each other.
"Anyone catch your eye?"
"No," Cosette answered Roman honestly.
"Harsh."
Cosette looked at him. "Is it?"
"Not really," Roman shrugged. The thick, red sludge slowly slid down his face as the rain washed it away.
Then why say it? Cosette looked away. Maybe it was conceited of her to not hold any desire to know Roman — as if she was better than him — but she could already tell that he didn't believe in Limos like her. Nobody does… so why waste both of our times?
The rain continued to come down on the street lined with tall buildings. Cosette realised that amongst the futuristic architecture of the Capitol, the old, stone building of the cathedral was completely out of place.
Limos has always been here, Cosette thought knowingly.
Up ahead, the horses began to move slowly and, with a shove that made Cosette hold onto the rail, their horse moved steadily.
Cosette focused on the narrow street they moved down. There was no noise or fanfare. There was nobody watching them. The wheels on the carriage creaked hauntingly as they rolled down the street. They called it a parade — but it felt more like a funeral procession.
Then, people began to appear. The occasional person appeared from the sidestreets, dressed in black, faces hidden behind veils or hats or masks.
Cosette saw Roman tense ever-so-slightly from the corner of her eye.
It didn't bother Cosette as much. Her heart palpitated a little faster, but she ignored it, putting it down to excess adrenaline.
The winding streets continued. The people appearing became more often. Somewhere in the distance, Cosette heard the familiar, deep sound of a piano. Except… it was louder.
Is that an organ, like at church? Cosette looked around curiously.
"Oh, so you hear it as well," Roman broke through the silence, "I thought I was the only one."
It was eerie — deep, slow tones that thrummed through the air, echoing across the street. Cosette noticed the other tributes turning, increasingly alarmed as the rain continued to drizzle down upon them.
She needed to know where it came from. It sounded so familiar that it made Cosette's skin crawl.
More people began to appear. A sea of black-clothed spectators that said no word and showed no face.
Roman laughed, "Creepy."
Cosette's eyes landed on a singular, small child in the crowd, dressed exactly the same as the others. Their head was bowed, a mane of black hair hiding any skin. Cosette couldn't turn away as their carriage rolled alongside the kid.
The child looked up and Cosette's breath hitched in her throat.
Their face was hidden behind a solid white mask that showed zero expression, and yet, Cosette could see the details of wrinkles and blemishes, even through the rain as it picked up harder, washing away the blood that stained her clothes.
It looked so familiar.
Cosette's lips quivered but she held her gaze, fingers instinctively reaching for the pearls around her neck once more as the child vanished amongst the darkened masses.
Rafe Aguilar, District Ten Male
Rafe refused to look at the faces in the rainy crowd as his and Niobe's carriage passed through the streets.
He caught a singular glimpse of a woman wearing a white mask and immediately decided that it wasn't worth it. Nope, Rafe would not fall for such fearmongering. He would not be psyched out by a few tricks up the Capitol's sleeves.
He would stay grounded, resolute, his fists clenched so hard around the metal bar that his knuckles were turning red.
"This is so messed up," Rafe mumbled under his breath, eyes focused on the large building at the very end of the street.
"Those are death masks," Niobe commented quietly, more astute than Rafe's emotions would let him.
"What?"
"Death masks," Niobe was staring into the crowd. Many were looking up at them, bleach white masks staring blankly in their direction. "When people die, they sometimes make a mask of that person. It's supposed to be a sign of respect."
"Damn," Rafe was impressed, "Who taught you that?"
Niobe smiled shyly, eyes downcast on the floor of the chariot. "I read it in a book once. I'm not really into history any more… I prefer stories with happy endings."
"It's a shame that not every story can have a happy ending," Rafe shrugged, "Sometimes, you have to fight for the future, not the present."
A wave of wise confidence washed over Rafe. He couldn't pinpoint exactly when he took his Mama's advice, but at some point, he grew up to be more than the boy who punched everyone who disagreed with him. The rain above made him feel nostalgic — but he couldn't think as to why.
Slowly, the horses trotted into the building, shielding them from the rain.
The large structure was hollow — there were no lights or sound. Just an empty shell that now contained twenty-four teenagers atop of horses.
Nobody moved until, eventually, another tribute from up ahead made the first move, dismounting the chariot.
Rafe didn't hesitate, leaping from his standing position. He was wet, cold, sticky — he had never felt more gross in his life, and that included the summer with that… man… cleaning out his animals. Rafe paused, eyebrows knitted in confusion.
What was his name? Rafe couldn't remember but, then again, it was about six years ago. Oh well.
Niobe climbed down, "Where is everyone?"
Rafe shrugged, "Beats me."
The tributes stood around idly, lost. The whole experience was jarring. It almost felt like the tributes were not wanted, which only made a small ball of fire burn in Rafe's stomach. They reaped us to kill us, but we're the inconvenience?
"This is bullshit," Rafe moaned, "I want to get out of these clothes."
Niobe's cheeks grew pink and she looked away, "It's pretty embarrassing, I agree."
"Embarrassing?" Rafe looked at her, eyes narrowed, "I meant that it's gross. Where did you get embarrassed from?"
"Oh— I didn't mean to upset you—"
"It's fine," Rafe took a deep breath, realising that Niobe's awkward tendencies were part of her personality. You're being a sensitive dick, Rafe. Stop it. "Honestly. I know what you mean now. Sorry…"
Niobe smiled awkwardly, "I should have worded it better—"
"—It's honestly fine, let's drop it," Rafe gritted his teeth, trying so very hard to not let it sink too deep into his head. He was trying to be more mature. His Mama's words echoed in his head and he let them sink in instead.
"Oh, I think someone is coming."
Rafe spun around. At the very end of the dark, tunnel-like room, a door opened revealing some stressed, anxious faces. None of them looked familiar… until Rafe saw their mentors, Ingrid and Denver, walking through the threshold.
They quickly approached their tributes, and for some reason, their presence seemed to soothe the angry little monster inside of Rafe.
"What is even happening?" Rafe was quick to ask, abrupt, "They dunked us in blood, then put us out in the rain on some horses!"
… Oh, I'm more bothered by it than I thought.
"I see," Ingrid offered a smile, "We didn't know. They change it up every year."
"It's shit."
"I agree."
There was an awkward pause. Ingrid glanced between the two tributes and then to Denver who, from first glance, looked frazzled. His eyes flickered around the room nervously, like a trapped animal.
"Why were the people in the crowd wearing death masks?" Niobe asked.
"Yeah!" Rafe egged her on, "Why were they?"
"Death masks?" Ingrid paled slightly, "…I don't know."
"And there was weird music," Rafe added, "I heard it in the air."
But neither Ingrid nor Denver had any answers.
"We can head upstairs and you can shower. That's enough for today," Ingrid smiled.
Niobe and Rafe shared a glance. It felt like even their mentors were hiding secrets from them, or at the very least being selective with what they shared. Rafe put it down to nerves. It must be horrible to relive it every year even after you've survived.
The foursome walked across the room where other mentors were leading their confused tributes away. At the very end, another door led to a flight of stairs that they ascended. Rafe stayed at the very back on purpose.
He was unsure of his mentors, of Niobe, of his situation.
They were nice people, sure, but when did nice mean survival?
Rafe looked over the metal railings, realising that the other tributes and mentors were following. The atmosphere was somber — nobody had any idea what was happening, it would seem.
At the very top, there was an old elevator. Rafe wiggled in alongside Niobe, their mentors, and a bunch of people that Rafe didn't know and didn't think it'd be wise to know. After all, if only one can survive, the implications for the others…
Mama would want me to win. Rafe was almost certain of it.
But… do I have it in me to kill? Rafe wasn't certain. He knew he could fight, defend, attack. But he wasn't born capable of such harm.
I'm overthinking it, Rafe decided, shaking away the thoughts. He wouldn't let them psyche him out. He wouldn't beat himself up before they had even reached the point of no return.
The elevator went up painstakingly slow, stopping two times before, on the third, Ingrid guided her tributes out of it. Rafe barely acknowledged the room around him before he made a beeline for what he presumed was the bathroom, ripping off his sodden top and dropping it on the floor as he went.
Geneva Nasari, District One Female
Geneva rested her head on the tiled wall, letting the warm water hammer down on her back and shoulders, easing any knots from holding them so tight.
She let out a heavy sigh, trying to find a small tranquil spot in her head to rest.
It had been a rollercoaster of a day — Geneva was tight, anxious, all of these feelings that she hadn't felt since she was a small child, always nervous of displeasing her parents. From the baptism to the chariot ride to the fanciful apartment that brought back cluttered, fragmented memories… it was a lot.
This is what I've trained for. For if this moment happened.
I can't let them down. It's expected of me to win.
Geneva placed her palms against the tiles, bracing her body and squeezing her eyes shut.
They're going to throw as many curveballs as they can. Gaia taught you that — she taught you to think on your toes, keep a level head, prepare for the worst and cut down the best.
She knew that Gaia, Arnaud and Sanjay were out in the common area, no doubt discussing their plans for the upcoming days. Geneva also knew she should be with them… but was unable to muster the strength.
Only I can win anyway, Geneva rationalised her thoughts. Why should I care about Sanjay?
But there was a small inkling of Geneva that saw Sanjay — who said he trained but she did not remember him, at all — as a friend and not a foe. They barely knew each other: but he felt honest, kind, the opposite of what Geneva believed would make a winner.
She shook her head, turning off the faucet. She climbed out of the shower, wrapped a towel around her body, and approached the steamed up mirror. She wiped it with her hand, staring at her reflection for the first time today.
She looked terrible.
Geneva could see the stress under her eyes, the blemishes in her face. She looked like she had already been put through the wringer.
"Geneva, are you almost finished?"
Sanjay. "I'll be out in a moment."
"Okay, I'll wait!"
Geneva put her frizzy hair into a towel bun and exited the bathroom. Sanjay was waiting for her, idly standing at her door.
"Oh— ah, you were actually showering, oh, okay—" Sanjay was beet red, turning around so he was facing the wall, "I'm so sorry, I didn't realise you were showering, I thought you were hiding."
"Hiding?" Geneva was almost amused by that assumption. "Why would I hide?"
Sanjay cleared his throat, "Um— did you want to plan with Gaia and I?"
"I overheard most of it," Geneva answered, sitting down on her bed.
"They think we need to make an alliance," Sanjay continued, shifting awkwardly from one foot to the other, "They suggested that District Two and Four are solid choices if we want to do it."
A large alliance? Geneva pondered the thought. She knew from Gaia that they also trained their teenagers sometimes, but their odds of being chosen were slim. If they could prove their worth, it would make sense to bulk up numbers.
Keep your friends close but your enemies closer.
It would also be a great way to take them down if I need to. They wouldn't expect it.
Geneva almost felt bad for thinking ill thoughts of complete strangers, and by extension, Sanjay. But she wasn't an idealistic child any more. She knew that she had to knuckle down and focus on the bigger picture — her life.
Besides. She didn't owe anyone anything.
"Sure."
"Okay, cool," Sanjay quickly backed out of the room, awkwardly closing the door behind him.
Geneva quickly dried herself off, slipping into the comfortable satin clothes that were provided for them. It didn't feel any different to home. A life of luxury handed to her on a plate. As she slinked into the common area with her head held high, she realised that everyone was staring at her.
"It suits you," Arnaud raised an eyebrow.
"The clothes?"
"A lady of luxury," Arnaud continued, "Nasari riches."
"Enough, Arnaud," Gaia butted in. She gave Arnaud a tense look, one that made Geneva feel confused, left out of the loop.
"I'm not saying anything?" Arnaud stood up, "I'll let you finish talking. I'm gonna get a drink."
Arnaud abruptly headed for the elevator and slipped inside. They waited for him to fully leave before Gaia patted the couch, offering Geneva a seat.
Geneva walked forwards and sat down. Sanjay was on the opposite couch, a kind smile on his kind face that Geneva just could not relate to. She didn't want her emotions to be so readily available for everyone to see. It wasn't so much a weakness as it was naive.
"I want you to make an alliance," Gaia opened up with, "District Two and Four. It seems like a lot, but I've spoken to their mentors and it just seems like the best fit."
"Will they have trained?" Sanjay asked.
"Most of them," Gaia added, "I believe only one of them hasn't. It shouldn't matter. The sheer number of you should make the other tributes quake."
"So, intimidation tactics?" Sanjay butted in again, "It feels a little unfair."
"Why does it?"
"We should be strong on our own merit, not by our appearance," Sanjay continued. Geneva stared at him with incredulous eyes as he challenged Gaia's advice.
"Nothing about this is fair," Gaia smiled, "They will play dirty, too. It's everyone for themselves."
"What happens next?" Geneva wanted to change the subject.
"You will have three days of training," Gaia answered, "It'll be… different, this year, but keep an open mind. I can't tell you much more than that. After the training, you'll have private sessions with the church. They'll assess you—"
"—assess us for what?"
"You'll find out. You ask a lot of questions, Sanjay."
Sanjay smiled, "It's better to ask and know, then not know at all."
"What comes after the private sessions?" Geneva just pushed forwards. Sanjay's questioning was rude and disrespectful, at least, to her it was. Geneva was raised to respect authority, not challenge it.
"A ball. And then… you'll head to the arena."
The mood darkened. There was an end to the luxuries. Geneva knew she couldn't let herself be blinded by the fanciful foods and flavours. She needed to be grounded, ready and prepared.
"So," Geneva adjusted her position, raising her shoulders and tightening them, "What are our allies' names?"
w w w. sixfeetunderhg. blogspot. c o m.
Questions!
Who is ready to see some superpowers? Does anyone want to guess any?
Any budding alliances?
What is this sorcery? I updated reasonably on time?
I still don't have much to say. I hope you're enjoying the story and staying safe! It's gonna be a long road but I hope you'll come to enjoy it.
As for me, I'm no longer that sus, but I did see Ali vent in electrical. Vote her out.
~Corey.