Greetings, tributes and writers/readers, and welcome to… the first night in the Capitol. I'm sure most were sure that training was the next chapter, alas, I, for some strange reason, want to write about the tributes one last time before their resolves and innocence change for the better or the worse. So there ya go, sorry not sorry.
Reviews!
roses burning: Everything's good now, thanks! I'm happy to hear that I did a good job on the descriptions, it took forever to get them done. Thanks for the review!
Jaybird8101: I'm glad you liked the chapter, thanks!
In TranscendentElvenRanger's Forest of Death: The 54th Hunger Games, my District One female tribute, Atalanta Bliss, is a confirmed survivor of Day 8 (Part One), with 2 kills. She's made the Top 12, HALLELUJAH! However, I don't like what I think is about to happen…
I do not own the Hunger Games. Period. Quit asking about it. Oh, you didn't? Well you should, you bully chickens.
Malaya Garnet, Age 17, District 1
District One Female, Sixth Quarter Quell
The crowd's still roaring even as the chariot containing the Thirteens rolls to a stop. I look around at the insane populace, the bright colors and flashing lights nearly blinding me. I bare my teeth at them viciously, playing the part that had been elaborately shaped for me as a child. To my ears, they suddenly sound louder, and I look at one of the coverage screens to see Marcus and me staring back. We raise our hands in unison, and the crowd cheers.
Suddenly, however, all is silent, and I look up to see a very proud and strong man standing at the podium, his hands held up, silently asking for attention. The man, who I recognize to be President Snow, is smiling down at his tributes, his honored guests. As his eyes sweep over me, I feel a slight chill, whether from excitement or the crisp, cool air, I am unsure. The ridiculously thin dress that Antoleenia threw me into really isn't made for the Upper Capitol's cool summer nights, and I feel goosebumps begin to take shape on my arms.
The adrenaline from the Parade gone, I look up into the face of the handsome, black-haired man whose Games shall bring me glory.
He lowers one hand, allowing himself to use the other for hand gestures. "Welcome, tribute and bystander alike, to the Opening Ceremonies of the One-Hundred Fiftieth Annual Hunger Games and Sixth Quarter Quell!" The crowd erupts again, and I can imagine my home District mimicking them. The young President soaks in the cheers for a moment before raising his hands again. "The Hunger Games, as you all know, were devised a century and a half ago by our forefathers to bring peace to a rebelling people." He continues, "And as a result, we have had nothing but peace for generations."
I hear a slight snigger to my right, and I look past the Threes to the Fives, where the boy has an angry grin on his face. I can't help but think, What's his problem?
"As was also written by the men who surrendered their peace to us, a twist was declared, one that would be put into effect every twenty-five years. This, the Quarter Quell, has never failed to bring honor and grace to those who participate, as well as their families, their friends, their Districts. Each Quell Victor has made history for their Districts, as I'm sure this year's Victor shall continue with vigor." He presses slightly on the word, and I can't help but wonder whether it means anything or not.
"A Victory from District One, from Malaya Garnet or Marcus Caelum, would give the District their fourth Victor since the turn of the century. Not to mention, to mark the 75th anniversary of the Third Quell, where their own Victor, Gloss Xerces, stepped out of the Arena above twenty-three other Victors. Quite the milestone." I stand with pride and desire, knowing that that title can be mine in only a short few weeks, an honor my District chose me for. I'm rather glad he didn't mention the threatened doom of One's training centers being so close, after five decades and only three Victors.
"Two, of course, could have three Victors in a row, a feat the Games have never seen before. I expect great things from Mason Lepodolite and Cassia Maurise. District Three, of course,-" He continues to remind the audience of what each District can gain from these Games. Eight can have its first Victor in over half a century. Ten can have its youngest Victor ever. Thirteen can have its second Victor ever. Nothing really as great as what the Careers will be fighting for, but at least something great is bound to happen this year.
"But now, Panem, we must say 'goodnight' to our tributes, as they have a great many busy days ahead of them, and we have a night of partying to attend to. Farewell tributes!" He calls after us as the horses pull us back to the Tribute Center.
"And may the odds be ever in your favor!"
Soot Maloy, Age 13, District 12
District Twelve Male, Sixth Quarter Quell
I am more than relieved when I feel the chariot roll to a stop for what is hopefully the last time tonight. Keola and I turn shakily and hop out, and I flinch when Keola falls flat on her face. Before I have the chance to help, however, Ephialtes and Slatia, her stylist and mentor, do that for me. Keola is shaking in, from the cold, I assume, and Ephialtes looks up at me with a glare. I only stare blankly at him as I hop out, and I swivel my head around in a search for Tara and Coal, my own stylist and mentor. They're nowhere to be found.
Sighing, I turn back to Keola and her team, but they've gone too. Slowly, I climb back onto the chariot, taking notice for the first time of all the blinding flashes of light surrounding me, and it's difficult to look through the throng of people. Finally, I catch sight of a figure cloaked in yellow, being led to the doors of the Tribute Center. Looking again for my stylist, I moan in frustration. This crowd could kill me before I ever reach that stupid Arena.
I hop back down onto the weathered, dry, stable pavement. The Capitol reporters and Tribute enthusiasts are pressing in all around me, asking me for my opinions on the other tributes and what my chances for the Games are. As I make my way to the massive building before me, I learn that my chances for the Games, in the eyes of the populace, are very slim. It terrifies me slightly to find out that I've been predicted to place 24th out of the 26 tributes, ahead of Keola and the boy from Thirteen. I'm also startled when I'm asked about my given odds, which place me at 52-1.
After what feels like forever, I break through the doors of the Tribute Center, where Capitol Security is doing its best to keep the excited fans out. Ahead of me, I see the tributes from Six, escorted by their entire crew, making their way toward a small blue sign hanging from the ceiling, one that reads: elevator. I follow a few paces behind them, making sure that I'm not invading their space. At the end of the room, opposite the doors, a metal panel in the wall opens up, and the Sixes step inside, whispering quietly to each other. I reach them when someone I cannot see calls out, "Team Six only!"
With a slight beep, the doors close and my way up has disappeared.
As I stand there, hoping against hope that the doors will open again, will magically take me to the people who don't treat me like an opponent, but an ally, someone familiar, I feel a sudden presence on either side of me. My heart pounding, I look up.
To my horror, I see the giant man from Two to my left, and the pretty woman from Four on my right. Both tower a foot and a half above me, and both are staring down at me, slight smiles on their faces. Looking into their eyes, I see images of blood and bone, flesh and brains, the field surrounding the Cornucopia. I hear the screams of the slain, the young and the doomed, many fallen Twelves and Sixes and Eights, who never survive for long. Their blood spilled by the swords and maces held by people like these.
I'm still staring up into the faces of the Careers when Esmeralda speaks. "Soot, right? From Twelve?" I nod meekly, worried that any slight movement might set them off, that Four might rip my throat out, that Two may wring my neck. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Two raise his hands, and I brace myself for death.
But it doesn't come. Two gently presses my shaking body into the wide open trap of the elevator.
"We have a proposal for you." I whimper slightly as the doors close, where the Sevens look at me in pity.
After a moment of silence, I've finally gathered the courage to speak. Before I can, however, a high voice speaks from above the massive Careers and I, "Floor Two! Have a lovely evening, Mason."
Doors open behind me, and Mason gently shoves me forward into the darkness. My footsteps resound through the room, making me think it must be small, like a closet or something. I see Four's silhouette follow us into the dark room, and I groan miserably. Suddenly, the lights are on, revealing marble.
Seriously, the floor is made up of remarkable white marble tile, marble panels in the walls, marble pillars in each corner, marble benches and lamps. I had to shield my eyes, not so much from the sudden light as from the brilliance and purity of the stone around me.
Mason, unfazed, guides me to the bench on our left and sits me down. He and the girl from Four take the opposite bench, a slightly hungry look in their eyes. I shift uncomfortably, incredibly nervous under the heat of their stares. After an eternity, Four speaks.
"Do you have an alliance, Twelve?" She asks timidly. I shake my head, and she continues, "I didn't think you would, it's a little early for that. Twelve, we, that is, Mason and I, have a bit of a problem. You see, my District partner will not be joining the Career alliance this year, and as such we have a hole. An alliance needs a nice, crisp number that doesn't give any one individual power over another."
She's going to kill me, she's going to kill me.
"And we haven't spoken with the Ones yet, though we're already unsure of the boy. We, that is, the Twos and myself, saw his reluctance to join Malaya on stage. We are worried that he may be untrained, unqualified."
They're going to have One kill me, to prove himself.
Mason speaks up, "On top of this, of course, one runs the worry of not being able to, well, eat in the Arena. Since Mera isn't good with such things," Four looks at Mason quickly, then back at me, "We'll need someone to help us provide for the, um, Pack."
He's not saying-
Mera rolls her eyes. "Twelves know how to survive, we've figured that much. So here's the deal." It's actually happening! "Would you, little Twelve, like to join with the Career pack this year?"
My answer is instantaneous, and the tributes before me give a small jump of surprise.
"Yes!" My odds aren't 52-1 anymore.
Logan Woodson, Age 16, District 7
District Seven Male, Sixth Quarter Quell
I can't help but worry for the poor boy from Twelve. His killer could very well be in that elevator. That kind of information, by the look on his face, has already registered to him.
Not that I could help, though. They could have snapped me as quick as they could him. My odds in the Games are slim as they stand, a target on my back really wouldn't be doing me any favors.
"Ay, Logan, wait up!" I hear from behind me. I spin on my bare left heel, wincing slightly as the rough carpet digs into the skin. I feel goosebumps begin to form as a final gust of cool, night air slips through the door behind Kenzi and the rest of District Seven's team. I look at them hopefully for my mentor, Lily, but I can't see her. She must be in the room.
"Gee, you'd think I'd be used to walking through such crowds by now, I guess not?" She giggles slightly as she steps toward me, her arms behind her back. I see the glint of triumph in her eyes and bend backward, thankful to my legs for having the ability to support and guide such a sudden change in stature. I see the pie fly over me, and I feel a smirk make its way into my expression. That's the third one I've avoided today.
A high pitched scream echoes through the room from behind me, and I'm not even standing straight when I see both the prep teams in a pack with what I can only assume is another, apparently fighting over something. From their argument circle, a slight figure emerges, covered in the gunk of Kenzi's pie, and her dress sparking and sizzling. Kenzi's giggles are cut short as the girl looks our way, shooting a red-eyed glare through the tears. She boards the elevator, sitting open and empty, and presses something out of sight.
Before I can make sense of anything, even realize who the heck the girl is, I see the blur of my District partner rushing past me to the girl. "Kenzi! What're you doing?" I call after her, my legs finally kicking into gear. She ignores me, and I make it to the doors just as they are closing behind the girls. I pound my fists against the slabs of steel, and I'm not surprised at the sting in my hands. I don't care, though.
Her eyes were RED. I think in shock, what is wrong with that girl?
As I regain my senses, I can suddenly hear the arguing from my left, where the girl, (where was she from?) had emerged. A voice I've never heard before is screaming something about expensive wiring, and I shake my head as I board the elevator in an effort to escape the noise and the flashes of cameras. As the doors close, I see Oak Teare, Kenzi's mentor, give me a slight wave, as if to say, Yeah, I'll just wait here. Don't worry about me.
And then I remember what Oak had told me about my mentor, how she was already at the Capitol, that I wouldn't see her until after the Parade. He refused to tell me who it was, even as I begged and pleaded.
My heart pounds as I look around for a panel that would somehow tell me how to get to my floor, but none is in sight. Suddenly, a door opens up on the opposite side of the ones in which I had answered, and an alarmingly pleasant voice chimes, "Floor Seven! Have a lovely evening, Logan."
Hesitantly, I walk through the doorway and into darkness. As the transport device thing closes behind me, the lights come on, and my vision is a white blaze of nothing, at least for a moment. Once adjusted, I find myself in a small sitting room with two maple wood benches and a strange green floor, as well as tall electric lamps, from which the light is flowing. The floor, upon closer inspection, is, in fact, grass.
On the opposite side of the windowless room, massive, redwood doors stand. I step forward, listening to the slight crunch of the grass, and push them open.
As I step into the much larger room, I can't help but notice the massive tree, who's trunk dominates the area. The trunk, obviously meant to be redwood based off the size, is a dark brown, with thick branches that twist around, the way a yew tree might. The branches form a small staircase to my right, and I can see that pine cones have been randomly scattered along them. I chuckle slightly at the idiocy of the Capitol, before climbing them.
At the top, I find myself on a large platform, a dome of willow branches restricting the mere idea of seeing what might be outside of this bizarre tree. The trunk still stands in the middle of the landing, upon which a table and six chairs, all made of random, hand carved wood, stand right before me. On the opposite side of the tree, I see yet another sitting area, with more wooden benches, side tables and lamps. The floor is still a brilliant sea of green.
"So you're Logan, huh?" Near the sitting area, the willow branches part, revealing a brightly lit tunnel. A woman steps out, her long blonde hair streaked with red and brown, her face pale as moonlight and sunken. Her grey eyes are dull, her face expressionless. "I've heard you've got potential." She tells me.
As she walks toward me, her eyes calculating my figure, I try to remember. I know I've seen her before, that I've even heard her voice, but where? She steps behind me as I continue to wrack my brain.
I am interrupted by the simpering voice that bade me a good night earlier, though this time it spoke, "Mister Woodson, Miss Jeng, Oak Teare has arrived."
As the woman circled back in front of me, she said, annoyed, "Very good, took them long enough."
"Lily?" Oak calls from the far off, "Is Kenzi here?"
"Shouldn't she be with you?" Lily Jeng, the Victor of the Fourty-Second Hunger Games, District Seven's third Victor, mentor to two other Victors and murderer of four children snaps back.
Keola Foeba, Age 13, District 12
District Twelve Female, Sixth Quarter Quell
"Thank you so much again, Cheyenne, you've no idea how much this means to me. See you tomorrow!" I call as I board the transport machine, waving goodbye to my new allies. I still can't believe that I've found an alliance on the first night! Maybe, just maybe, I can actually go home.
The doors close, but only for a moment. Before I know it, a light voice calls out, "Floor Twelve! Have a lovely evening, Keola." And the doors open again, so I step out. The room I'm in is small, but it's the same size as the Tens'. Except everything is black, as opposed to the hides and furs that floor Ten had. It must be based upon the District occupying the floor.
Shrugging it off, I push through the solid black doors on the opposite wall, and I jump in surprise as Coal comes barreling toward me, obviously drunk off his rocker. I freeze in fear, when a slightly smaller figure smashes into him. They both go toppling to the floor, fists flying and cries filling the air. Finally, the unfamiliar figure, a teenage girl with short, fiery red hair smashes a vase into the side of the Victor's head. He goes limp, and the woman plants a kiss on his cheek.
She stands up, shaking her head. After contemplating the older man's spread-eagle figure, she turns to me. Her bright green eyes seem to burn, her pale skin reminding me of that terrifying boy from Nine. She has a smile there, though, and I relax slightly.
"So. You're Keola then?" She asks kindly. When I only nod, she gives a high-pitched laugh. "Nice to meet you, dear. I'm Slatia, ever heard of me before?"
Suddenly it clicks, and, through a sudden burst of confidence, I speak. "You won the Eighty-Second, right? You won by… actually fighting." I hesitate at the last part, painfully aware of just how many Twelves were not much more than lucky.
Acting as though she hadn't heard my last comment, she asks, "Are you hungry, Keola? The food's ready. You spent so much time with the Tens that it's growing cold. And we both know that Indigo will have my hide if you don't eat properly."
Before I can respond, Indigo Pearl, our escort, stalks into sight, still wearing that ridiculous bird cage on her head. "I will not have you filthy Twelves making me look bad in my first year. If all goes well, I might be able to escort a Victor before I'm too old for this job! And take care of that pathetic excuse for a Victor." She sticks out her chest, looking as snobby as usual and pointing at Coal in disgust, but I can feel that something's wrong.
My chest heaves as the screams of tributes fill my ears. Dancing in my vision are images of beheadings, impalements, a young boy getting skinned alive until his cannon finally marks the end. Blood is everywhere, and black is coating my vision. I am vaguely aware of my legs folding beneath me, my head slapping the floor.
My final vision before everything goes black is the boy from Nine swinging a hatchet at my neck, a broad grin on his face.
Infiniti Reagan, Age 17, District 3
District Three Female, Sixth Quarter Quell
The nightmare is the same as always. The ground is a lot more dominant of my vision than when I'm awake, and I can see the old roads wobbling as my younger self tries very hard not to make a sound. The little girl knows that her parents are looking for her, but she doesn't want to be found. So she runs in the one direction they'd never look, where they had always told her to never wander.
She knows the place is evil, but she doesn't care.
After moments, the clean, tailored experimental lab appears, as though by magic. A pleading call can be heard, and the girl turns, lifting her hands to her face. The landscape bounces slightly: the girl is giggling. Silently, she steps back into the wide open door. This would have worried most, but six-year-olds don't really have such instincts.
The scene shifts, and I can see a small girl strapped to an operating table. She's crying profusely, calling for her mama and papa. The cloth on the table is stained yellow and red, the blue tiled floor under the table imitating the horrid picture. Everything else is a blur of blues and whites, but the brain can't remember everything, especially after eleven years.
My vision flows closer to the girl, fusing her vision as my own. After the strange room fades away, I can see myself, my teenaged legs crossed below me. There's a book in my lap. The forest floor is like a beautiful painting around me. But there aren't any sounds, no birds, wind, nothing.
Except, a twig snaps outside my vision. I look up into a person's face. I recognize her blonde hair, her look of triumph, one that I had seen as she stood on the Reaping stage. But something's different. Perhaps it has something to do with the bloody tomahawks in each of her hands.
I sit up, screaming at the top of my lungs. The blue silk covers, which I had been so thankful for the previous night, are now soaked in sweat, confining my struggling body. There's a pound at the door, and it's wrenched open by a boy, younger than me, his black hair wild and his glasses upside-down. He's in his nightclothes, which are a little too scary to describe.
"What's… wrong?" Matrix Volt pants. I'm still in disbelief at the extent of the Capitol's abilities.
I throw off the sheets, jumping out of bed with dignity. "I'm fine." I answer coolly, "Just a nightmare." He nods sympathetically, and quickly leaves. I quickly found that Matrix had quite serious people problems during his teenage years, something the Games had amplified. I'm fine with it, Ingrid's my mentor after all.
Grabbing the bed post, I twist my body, working out the kinks that had entered my body in the night. I hear a satisfying POP! and give an involuntary sigh. Remembering the wet clothes, I quickly find my way to the shower, almost too happy to get out of that nice dress.
"So I want you both to focus on survival training today. Cordin, I want you to try to figure out some allies. Now, I know you've got three days, but it's a lot shorter than it sounds, trust me." Ingrid instructs us, a pained look on her face. We're sitting at the table, stuffing ourselves with incredibly delicious cereal, orange juice and several other amazing treats.
"Infiniti, I want you to check out your ally and look at her attributes. I need you to figure out her weaknesses, in case you need to exploit them. Her strengths, so you can learn to avoid them. You never know what will happen in the Games, but I have lost too many tributes to deceit and treachery." I nod, aware of just how fast this is all happening. I mean, we just got here, and we're already jumping right into the swing of things. It worries me on how close the Games really are.
"That's right." Matrix speaks up, for the first time since he had checked on me earlier, "While allies are important, many tributes make the mistake of giving full trust to another. You need to figure out her character, but don't forget the other tributes. Any encounter in the Arena could be your last, and you need to have any and all possible advantages at your side. But do your best not to show your own." Ingrid nods to him approvingly, which is weird, since he is technically older.
"Well, are my tributes about ready to get their butts into gear and get to the freaking Training Center? Bubble Clearwater has just informed me that her tributes are nearly ready, and I'd like to beat them."
Harpy gives us a throaty laugh, one that's interrupted by a snort as a voice calls out, "District Three, you have a visitor: Kenzi Williams of District Seven."
Taking a deep breath, a replace my spoon in the bowl and stand up, careful to push my chair in quietly, to which Cordin chuckles breathily. Ignoring him and the slight comedy in my own actions, I turn and head toward the door.
I may have asked her, but that doesn't mean that I can totally trust her.
The Sixth Quarter Quell starts now.
So some of the POVs were a little short. Sorry.
Here are the submitters who are Sponsors thus far. If I have your name down wrong, please let me know: (Remember. You can change who it is up until the Private Sessions)
ElvenRangerRysel: 114
Mystical Pine Forest: 97 (Cheyenne Bruno, District Ten Female)
dreams and desperation: 95
Jaybird8101: 88 (Rebelle Sunflower Rine, District Thirteen Female)
faceless eater aka slendergirl: 70
HufflePuffleJay: 68
caitiebug007: 58 (Devon Cynthia Rose, District Five Female)
JaymanRepublic: 65
Rina-The-Fangirl: 64
MeganCK: 56
Wolfie McCoy: 56
Here are the submitters, who have points, but haven't confirmed whether they want to Sponsor or not:
roses burning: 73
Jotunheim Storm: 59
InfiniteDespair: 56
MushtcheNinja29: 56
CreativeAJL: 53
grimbutnotalways: 53
Alliances!:
Queens and a Pawn: Marcus (1), Malaya (1), Mason (2), Cassia (2), Esmeralda (4), and Soot (12).
Reluctance: Infiniti (3), and Kenzi (7).
Sacrificial Lambs (97 points): Denny (10), Cheyenne (10) (97), and Keola (12).
Children of Amber: Thorn (11), and Willow (11).
Questions!:
Whaddya think of my new alliance?
Any better names for my alliances?
Tributes you'd like to see in the future?
Any thoughts on Sponsorship?
Is it bad that I keep changing my Arena?
How many questions can you ask before it becomes too many?
Anything you wanna see in the Games?
