I probably slept for about three hours. It feels like I closed my eyes just two seconds ago and now it's morning. Don't you hate it when that happens? If there's even a remotely good chance of staying in bed for the rest of eternity, I would most definitely would. But the obnoxious pounding of a manicured hand on the wooden face of the door accompanied by Tooth's chipper speeches to coax me awake, I am forced to emerge from the heap of deliciously warm blankets to go eat. The first thing I grab is a pot of coffee, pouring myself an abundant amount of black, tar-like liquid into a mug with copious portions of sugar and cream.
If there's one thing I love more than anything in the entire universe, it's coffee. The few times I had the opportunity to drink it, I did and fell completely in love. The bittersweet cream swishes over my tongue softly and I sigh in pleasure. Such a sensation of pure bliss that comes from this single beverage is considered totally rare back home. Coffee is way too expensive to buy constantly, and me being addicted to it isn't beneficial. I'd buy it when I could; when we had enough supplies to get by, ingredients for remedies, food, and had nothing better to do with a little extra change. So pretty much never. But here in the Capitol, coffee rains from the sky. The mere thought of hot drink ever of running out would be written off as either impossible or close to it. It's probably the only thing I like about the Capitol.
"Rough nigh'." Gobber motions to something on the top of my head and looks to be suppressing a fit of laughter, failing miserably. I keep my gaze on him (who is having trouble keeping strings of chuckles in his mouth) as I reach a paw to my mane and by only feeling the tendrils of hair, I can tell it's not good. I dash to the bathroom and nearly scream like a frightened school girl at what I find. My hair looks like someone had stuffed it into a blender set on 'chop'. Golden strands shoot off my head like outstretched limbs, scraggly and mangy strings frizz out in every possible direction. I comb it out rapidly until it's relatively back to normal and return to the table.
"Tha' was quite the scene ya made 'here." Gobber comments after I take my seat. Everyone else tries to hide their giggles behind their hands/paws as I glare daggers at the blonde man.
"Oh, like you care about personal hygiene." I spit out. He only lifts one side of his unibrow and chugs down a third of his flask. Gia glances at me sideways and I suddenly become self conscious. I ignore her as best as I can as I down the now cold cup of coffee.
"A'righ'. Lets get down to bu'iness." Gobber announces after wiping a meaty hand over his liquor-glazed mustache. "Today i' where we will private'y train yer for the in'erview tonigh' with Ceaser Flickerman. Tooth 'ere will take one of yer and I'll take the o'her for a few hours, then we'll switch off. Any ques'ions?"
Gia sits up slightly as if to speak. "Uh, yes. When can we-"
"None? Good. Lets get star'ed." Gobber stands up and hobbles away. Gia gives a flabbergasted facial expression to anyone facing her. When she turns to me, I simply shrug and stand up as well.
I get Tooth first. At the start, I think that it'll be easy since she is having me learn how to get comfortable with certain clothes. How hard can it be? Two hours later, I'm regretting that I ever thought that dress up is easy. Do you have any idea how suffocating a tuxedo is? I can barely breath as I try to strut in a straight line like I'm on the runway in a stiff black suit. I can't move either. I've ripped two outfits in half, undone several stitchings, and I don't even know how many buttons we've lost. But by the end I am able to walk and sit without any major damages. After a quick break for lunch, I now have Gobber who will help me with my appearance. Not physically, of course. Tooth made sure we covered that. What Gobber will be mentoring me with is my personality. He will help me decide what kind of face I will portray to the crowd. Funny, aggressive, sexy. Any of those to appeal to sponsors that will later support us in the arena. We find out really quick that this is not going to go so well. Back at the Central Park Zoo, it was a walk in the park when it came to performing. All I really had to do was dance around, smile, and wave. It was always about the energy I gave the people. It was me being me. But here it's different. They are expecting me to act a certain way, to talk a certain way, to be something that I'm not. I do not have the privilege to be myself. So we switch tactics by using speech cards that I read aloud in specific ways to match a personality. We blow right through the cards after the first hour and we still have no idea what to do. Obviously I can't be sexy. That would just be weird. I'm not necessarily aggressive, but I'm not soft either. And when it comes to being funny, just keep in mind that I'm not the best of comedians.
"If we don' find somet'ing for ya soon, we're goin to hav' a har' time reelin in those sponsors." Gobber says as he rubs the space between his eyes as if to assuage a headache.
"You don't have to tell me twice." I remark sourly. Gobber may not be the best of mentors, but I have to admit that he is making an effort to give me a good impression. Ever since the Opening Ceremony, I've noticed that he's sobered up quite a bit. He no longer drinks ample amounts of alcohol and has been eating more sustenance at mealtime. It's as if he has come to some great awakening that we have a sliver chance at winning the Games. Whatever has propelled the aged man to put so much work ethic into providing as much advice and knowledge to us is unknown to me, but I am grateful nonetheless. Yet even with Gobber's change of heart, this has to be the most frustrating thing I have ever experienced, and that's saying something.
"Well... there i' one more thin' we can try." Gobber draws out, grabbing my full attention.
"Oh yeah. And what's that?" I ask as I cup my cheek with my paw tiredly.
"Jus' be yourself." Gobber exclaims. "Nothin' specific, nothin' fancy. Just plai' ol' yer."
I have to take a moment to fully comprehend what he had just said. "So what your saying is that you want me to just wing it?"
"Yep." The man leans back casually, splaying his arms over the cobalt blue cushions that encompass his square form.
The next thing I know, I'm back in my room in what has to be the most amazing outfit ever made for a lion. Manufactured to fit the body of a large feline, such as myself, the tuxedo that Megamind has designed is large and loose fitting. The fiery crimson cloth glows in the dimness of dusk, the inlaid jewels sparkle across my shoulders, wrists, and ankles. My mane is neatly brushed out and expertly braided through, bringing some character to the heap of hair. In a word, I look "handsome", like a bachelor about to announce a show or something of the like.
"I hear that Gobber is going to have you play it safe during the interview and be yourself." Megamind says, picking a smidgen of lint off my sleeve.
"Yeah, sounds about right." I say back, eyes glued to the subtle, yet splendid light emitting from my suit. "What do you think of it?" I'm not sure exactly why I ask him about my behavior for the interview of all people, but I can't find myself to care. Possibly because he's someone who's seen and taken part in so many strange outfit trends with equally strange, pompous people that he would be unfazed by someone like me to have such a simple approach on a nationwide television program.
"I think it's better than you trying to be fake." He says, emerald eyes squared with mine. His electric blue skin on his bald head seems to illuminate like a cobalt light bulb in the shallow darkness. "Tributes showing themselves off with diverse behaviors and attitudes is entertaining, at most. But with you, being real, now that's something worth watching."
"You know, I should've had you as a mentor, instead. Your less of an asshole than Gobber."
Megamind chuckles in an amusing manner. "I'm not so sure about that. Gobber may be a rough around the edges, but he's blunt. He'll be honest with anyone about anything, regardless of how they'll feel."
"That's for sure." I say as we exit the room, our combined radiance creating a warbling, violet hue against the wall.
When we leave to go to a car that will take us to the interview, I see Gia for the first time since breakfast. And I am floored. A gorgeous red dress dons her curved form, tight in the waist and shoulders. Lengths of sheer fabric hang off her thin straps to the beaded bracelets on her wrists like curtains. Numerous gems ranging from blood red to sunflower yellow glimmer along the flowing tendrils of silk. Rims of black makeup border her large eyes, the golden orbs popping out. They flicker to and fro, like the flame of a candle dancing on a short, burnt string protruding from a stick of wax. She is absolutely stunning.
The drive to the outdoor auditorium is quick and quiet for a crowded street filled with numerous vehicles. Behind the stage, we are surrounded by our fellow tributes. Some look at us with curious, awestruck gazes and others...not so much. It's mostly the Careers who shoot nasty looks at Gia and me, eyeing our every movement like a predator watching their prey. Despite the fact that the Games don't start until tomorrow, it's as if they have already targeted us as their next victims.
Just before Megamind makes his way to the audience, he takes a quick visit back to me.
"Remember, heads high-"
"Smile, they're going love us. Yeah, yeah. You already told us." I say a little more bitterly than I intend. But if he cares to take note of it or not, he doesn't show it. He smiles knowingly, "I know I did. Just do one thing for me while you're up there." I instinctively give a slight nod. "Spin."
"What?"
"Find an opportunity to spin. Trust me on this." I consider having him hospitalized for thinking that spinning in a circle is the best tactic for me winning over a sponsor or two. But then again, he did make me a costume made of fire and I came away in one, not-charred piece. It's right there in that moment that I realize that I trust Megamind, maybe more than I should. It may get me into some serious trouble later on, but for now I have faith. So I give an affirmative nod of my head, my golden braids bouncing lightly, and he leaves.
Time flies by unexpectedly and I'm not really sure where it went. I don't pay attention to the other tribute's interviews seeing that they'll be dead within the days to come. And witnessing them pour out whatever the heck their mentors told them to about their lives and passions isn't going to help me survive the Games, especially with the fact that these kids will die for someone else's victory, if not their own. Imagine having to go home with that on your conscience. But it's better than being murdered in an arena with thousands of people watching you. Who knows, right?
Unlike the training interviews with the Gamemakers, males go before females. I hear the buzzard signaling the end of the dark-skinned girl from District 11, I can hear my name being called, and I can feel myself stand and trudge towards the stage. But the only thing I can actually feel is the painful thrumming of my heart against my ribs and the roar of applause that vibrates the the floor, shaking my knees. Suddenly I want to run away and hide in a deep, dark hole for the rest of time. To conceal myself in utter darkness to never be found by anyone or anything in search of their lost tribute. A voice in my head echoes strings of curses and taunts me for having this fearful impulse.
"Oh, come on! You've done this a million times. You shouldn't be such a scaredy cat. Dammit!" It echoes in my skull.
"Yeah, but last time the audience wasn't a horde of clown-like freaks who want to watch innocent children die just for their entertainment." I bark back, not out loud because I'd probably be sent to an asylum. But I can't say that the voice is wrong. I've never had trouble getting up in front of a crowd and doing whatever pleased them, whether or not the purpose was just or not. I should at least try. I take in a long breath, close my eyes, and step out onto the stage.
There is a moment of tranquil stillness, as if I am listening to white noise. A tunnel of white welcomes me as I step onto the wide stage, the piercing applause so loud it's almost quieted to a gentle hum. It's peaceful, it's noiseless, it's beautiful. I never want to end this blissful nothingness.
"Welcome, Alex Lyon." A cheerful voice pulls me out of my stunned daze. I turn to see Ceaser Flickerman start to guide me to a pair of elegant seats. His towering, dolloped lime green hair and lips complemented by his plaster pale skin makes him look like a key lime pie fresh from a bakery. He grins at me and to the crowd, his pearly white teeth sparkling like his jaded green outfit.
"It's very nice to meet you, Alex." He greets.
"Same here, Caesar."
"I have to say. When I was watching the Opening Ceremony, I was not expecting such an amazing display from such a small district." Ceaser says casually. Like Megamind, for someone who goes all out in their choice of wardrobe he is surprisingly facile to talk to. I find it easier to converse with this walking, talking pie of a man than wearing a tux and not ripping it to shreds.
"You and me both." I say. The crowd laughs as queued. I feel a spark of confidence ignite within me and without my consent, a smile spreads across my muzzle. It's natural and real, just like me.
"In all my years of attending the Opening Ceremony, I've never seen a pair of tributes look so dazzling. I'm not gonna lie, I was a little jealous of just how fabulous you were."
"Well, you're going to have to give all the credit to my stylist for that." I say.
"Where is Megamind, anyway? He's in the crowd somewhere, right?" We both turn towards the swarming mass of brightly colored heads in search of the black leather-clad designer. We find him in a row closer to the stage. He gives a modest wave, but doesn't take a stand like Ceaser ushers him to.
"I have to know." Ceaser continues. "Were you scared when you were wearing those flames? I mean, anyone would be, I know I would, but...what was going through your head when you were riding that chariot?" Ceaser asks. He seems intent on keeping me and everyone else on track in a fun, energetic manner. Of course, he's experienced in keeping the show lively. He's been doing this for years.
"The one thing going through my head was, 'If I am burnt to a crisp and don't make it out of here, at least I'll do it looking fantastic.' The crowd gives a hearty round of guffawing and Ceaser bellows, head thrown back and clutching his stomach. Wow, I'm a hit. "And even now, in this suit, I never dreamed that it was possible to look this good in all my life." I say as if stricken with absolute shock at my flawless appearance. Another howl sounds off and it takes a whole minute for them to quiet down.
"It is a very nice suit. Very classic." Ceaser notes, fascinated by the refined tuxedo. "Is there any way we could switch suits. I think I could pull off red. Don't you think?" He asks the crowd for approval and they give reassuring cheers as he faces them for confirmation.
I chuckle aloud. "Absolutely! But I doubt I'd be able to pull off your outfit. Lets just say that green isn't exactly color." And another wave of laughter goes off. Man, I am just killing it. Now's my chance. "Do you mind if I show you the whole thing?"
"No, go right ahead." Ceaser answers excitedly, gesturing for me to stand like he did with Megamind. I do and I start to spin like stylist asked of me. At first, nothing happens. But then I see it. Rising from the cuffs of my ankles and wrists, flames grow and lick my calves and arms. Tendrils of fire sway as if caught in the midst of a breeze and envelope my limbs, eating me alive. Megamind has done it again. He has made my clothes to become a fiery display, just as good as last time. The multitude of people before me 'ooh' and 'aww' at the scene. Even Ceaser Flickerman's pale, celery green eyes bulge out of his sockets. I have to stop after a while because I am way too dizzy and swerve violently on my feet like a drunken man. The flames die down and Ceaser helps me steady myself as I nearly topple over and he leads me back to my seat, grinning from ear to ear like a kid on Christmas.
"That was brilliant! Absolutely brilliant!" Ceaser shrieks and the audience follows his lead. I can practically feel Megamind's smirk from the crowd, and that's before I glance over at him and he returns it with a simple thumbs up.
"Okay, okay. I just want to get serious here for a second." Ceaser announces and the crowd goes silent. "I think we'd all like to know how you came to be here by...volunteering yourself. In fact, you are the very first volunteer for the Reaping in your district."
My heart bobs up into my throat as if transformed into a helium balloon, blocking my windpipe. I sit there, paralyzed and suffocating. I'm not ready to spill my guts out on how I couldn't bear the idea of witnessing my best friend die in an arena. I don't think I can express such an emotional outbreak to these weirdly dressed strangers. And if I'm going to, I wouldn't want to because it's too soon to tell out loud comfortably. Yet I can't make up some sappy, shit story about me being the brave, selfless giant cat they believe me to be. I have to try. So with all my inner strength, I push down my balloon of a heart and tie the string to the pit of my stomach, anchoring it and myself for what's to come.
"Yeah, I...wasn't really planning on ever being in the Hunger Games. I don't think anyone really does. But...when I saw my friend-"
"His name's Marty, right?" Ceaser interrupts. I would've shot him a dirty look if it wasn't for the fact that he only stopped me mid sentence to give me a break. He looks at me sympathetically, his gaze full of pity. I want to be angered at the notion of being pitied. I don't need his or anyone's pity. I should be stronger than this, dammit. Not just for me, but for Marty. I need to be strong for Marty...And my voice may have been on the brink of cracking, so thank God Ceaser was there to stop me from embarrassing myself over all of Panem.
"Yeah, Marty. I've known him since we were kids and...hearing his name called I...I couldn't fathom the thought of him going in there. I just couldn't-can't." I say. I find a sudden interest in my feet, refusing to look up at those celery green saucers, or anyone's eyes for that matter. What I had just said was personal. Something I didn't think to share with anyone but those closest to me. And those people are gone. Right here in this moment, I am vulnerable, like a newborn baby brought under the spot light.
"I bet that was hard for you. Leaving everything behind for your friend's life." Ceaser sighs out, each word heavier than the last until they are crushing weight on my back. I try to straighten out my spine in an attempt to get out of my slumped position.
"It was, but I made him a promise. That no matter what happened that I'd try to win for him."
"And try you will." Ceaser ends for me. You can imagine how grateful I was for the buzzer going off, signaling the end of my interview. We shake hand to paw and I take my other seat behind stage. It's Gia's turn now and as she walks by, she gently grasps my shoulder and squeezes reassuringly. She strides away before I can ask her what she did that for, but I already know.
That's her. Gia, the kind and forgiving jaguar. Compared to me, she's an angel. And in contrast, I'm more or less a demon from hell. I'm going to be honest, I'm not the same lion I used to be. That's already pretty damn obvious. Throughout the past couple of years in District 12, I've seen and experienced things most people wouldn't even think to take part in. Things that most wouldn't even survive through. Sometimes I think of myself as the DC Comic vigilante, the Green Arrow. Not because we both use the bow and arrow as our choice of weapon, but because he had spent five years alone on an island. And it was there that he learned the laws or survival, was tortured and beaten for information, and was changed completely when he returned home. Going from the young playboy of Starling City to the hardcore night watcher in the most brutal, soul crushing way possible. Now that's someone I can relate to.
I slowly submerge into the drowning chaos of my thoughts, indulging into the short, random ideas that pop up into my head. I've been told that I can get caught up in my own little world from time to time. This isn't anything new. By the time I resurface from the thrashing waves of my mind, Gia is still up on stage. She enraptures the audience with her sweet smiles and stories from her time back home in the bakery. She accepts the complements from Ceaser about how beautiful she is and her exotic accent. It's by this time that Ceaser asks if she has a significant other.
"Oh no." She says, a mirthful giggle dancing on her lips. "I'm afraid I didn't get the chance to find a mate to love."
"Oh, come on." Ceaser lures, waving off her statement as if it's the most preposterous thing ever said on the program. "With you being so beautiful, I don't see how you couldn't catch the eye of at least a dozen or so males."
She steals a moment to herself, gripping her paws together as her tail curls at her feet. "Well...there was one male I liked." She draws out, her voice dropping to a hushed whisper.
"Pray tell." Ceaser says, leaning in to catch every word spilling from her short snort. Her black ears flatten against her skull, the golden fur of her head gleaming under the harsh light.
"I had only known him for a few years, but I doubt he ever noticed me." She says in a desolate tone.
"And why would you say that?"
"Because he was always too busy taking care of his family that he didn't see me. And I really couldn't blame him for not. He needed to support his family."
A long, earsplitting minute of pure silence drifts over the stage and audience once again. I guess the Capitol people weren't expecting such an emotional, heartfelt tale from this single tribute. Ceaser reaches over and takes Gia's small paws, his soft skin and her bronzed, spotted fur glistening in the spotlight. "Here's what you do." He says firmly, as if instructing her. "You win this Hunger Games and go straight home to proclaim your love for him. There's no way he can reject it if you win." The crowd screams out counseling shouts of agreement, and for a split second Gia smiles weakly but it vanishes within an instant.
"Thank you, Ceaser. But I don't think I could ever do that."
"Why?"
"Because...he came with me."
And just like that, a bomb is dropped and I am totally taken aback. I go completely numb. I can't feel my jaw drop, I can't feel my ballon-like heart bounce back up in my throat. The only thing that manages to get through my head is that single statement and from there my mouth reacts before I can.
"Holy sh-" The audience's ear-deafening screeches drown out the rest of that sentence.