Chapter 20: First Night in the Capitol + Morning with the Gamemakers
This chapter is kind of a filler, but I think it also had its use for showing every tribute before the Games! I hope you will enjoy #Chapter 20: First Night in the Capitol + Morning with the Gamemakers! Additionally, I noticed that some submitter don't necessarily read this story anymore. I wonder if those could probably send me a PM or a message via discord, so I can sort their characters out for the bloodbath and continue the story with the characters from people who truly read this story. I think everything else would be unfair for the submitters that truly read and follow the story. It's difficult for me to know if they do when I don't get feedback from those, especially because I already planned most of the deaths and have my victor candidates. So, when you read this, please PM or message me! This goes to every submitter (not only to those who I didn't hear from a while now)! You'll have time to message me for a month after this chapter is uploaded! Otherwise your character doesn't have a chance of victory!
Solomon Canterra, 13, District 5 male
It felt wrong to lie in soft down blankets and think of sleep when you knew you could be dead in less than five days. Solomon rolled restlessly in his bed, anxiously reaching into one of the many shaken pillows like a small child clinging to his mother. Solomon no longer had a mother; All he had was his family in District 5. What do you think they would do right now? Would they stare at the dark screen of the old TV, or would they rather stand in the marketplace to get support?
Actually, it didn't matter what they did. It wouldn't help Solomon anyway if they cried now. He couldn't hear them, see them, or even know their feelings. Perhaps that was the real reason the games are so cruel, Solomon thought tiredly. Because you don't know how your child feels when they're on that pedestal. They were seen to have the fear or determination, if they were there, not as the last moments of their lives passed them by. Solomon hadn't even thought about what he was thinking about. Maybe the birthday dinner for his father, to which all the children had cooked together? The pancakes had been delicious. As if on command, Solomon's stomach growled. He hadn't eaten anything since the oatmeal in the morning, the concern for Kyro just didn't allow it. Solomon couldn't believe that Kyro had voluntarily taken the place of a tribute. Could Solomon have been home to fear that Kyro would die? Surely his brother was thinking about the same thing.
Solomon franticly punched in the soft bedding. Why did everything have to be so complicated?! Why couldn't the games start right away? It would be much better for his nerves, that much was clear. Over the next few days, he had to take care of so much; Find allies, learn important things like hunting or fishing, find the right way to talk to people. This year there were many tributes that had a silver tongue and knew how to use it. Unfortunately, Solomon was not one of them. He was one of the younger tributes at just 13 years old, only the two from District 8 were younger. He couldn't get there against someone like this from 2. Solomon needed a plan.
Was there a way to win without being the focus of the other tributes and the public? That would be Solomon's only path to victory. At the age of thirteen, he was much more muscular than many others, but he had to rely on cleverness. Now completely awake, Solomon got up. His bare feet left unsightly stains on the expensive real wood floor as he quietly sneaked into the living area. Solomon was sure there was a winner a couple of times who took advantage of a mental advantage to win. He hoped to find old footage of the games from a few years ago, which had to be stored in the high bookshelf of the living room. Quietly Solomon sneaked past Alisha's door, but through a faint beam of light on the floor, he could see that she was still awake. Shortly Solomon paused and thought about initiating Alisha in his idea. On the train, she had made it clear to him that she was going to work alone and couldn't use less. Perhaps she would change her mind if Solomon revealed his strategy to her? With Alisha's previous knowledge, which mainly focused on useful information such as swinging a weapon, the two could form a dangerous pair. It had often worked out that one of the partners won. But the alliance would probably end to his disadvantage, which is why Solomon quietly moved on, past the doors of the escort and lightning that were already asleep, because it was completely dark in the rooms. The wood creaked as Solomon rushed to the bookshelf and turned on the light over the sofa. He quickly flew over the titles of the DVDs, which were arranged chronologically.
"Can I help you somehow?" someone suddenly asked, and Solomon briefly jumped his heart out of his chest. Frightened, he turned to the kitchen area, where lightning sat at the dining table and drank a glass of wine. Solomon hadn't even noticed his mentor. He had to learn to be more attentive, otherwise it would mean his death. Lightning smiled slightly at Solomon's reaction, pointing to a chair. "Can't you sleep?" he asked knowingly. Solomon went to the table and dropped himself next to lightning, his hands kneaded tensely. "I just came up with an idea and I had to convince myself that it could work," the 13-year-old explained as lightning rose to make a cup of warm milk with honey.
"Tell me about your idea. Maybe I can help you," his mentor said, stirring the honey under the milk. Solomon briefly recoiled. What if Blitzen found the idea completely scary? Uneasily, Solomon slipped around on the chair. "Do you think I would have a chance to win if everyone underestimated me?" he asked, looking interested in the winner's face. Lightning seemed to be thinking about it. "Continue talking. I think that conversation could be quite interesting," he said, pushing the cup into the microwave. "If I intentionally failed at the private session and get a low score, then everyone will brand me as harmless. I learn things that are important and drive the survival track until we are only a few left in the arena. Then I have to get a weapon and get involved in what's going on," Solomon said. This strategy had to work. It was just too good to go wrong.
"There hasn't been anything like this for a very long time. But honestly, I think it could work. We just have to think about a few small details. First, no allies. Otherwise, they could become suspicious and kill you before you play along properly. Second, the interview. Shy is now your trademark. When everyone is loud, you stay quiet. Don't be impressed by them but pretend to be scared. Last detail, where do you get a weapon from?" asked Blitzen, stopping the microwave. He came back to the dining table. Solomon thanked him for the milk. "I could sneak into the cornucopia unnoticed during the bloodbath at the beginning. The careers are mainly concentrating on bigger threats like the pair from 7. I take a weapon, maybe something to eat, and then run away," Solomon said. He took a small sip of the milk and burned his tongue.
"If you want to go through this, I will help you. But not a word about Alisha, understood? You can't afford her to know about our conversation," Blitzen said. "And now go to bed."
Ama Carter, 17, District 11 female
Before they were allowed to go down to training, they wanted to take portraits of every tribute. Ama bent deeper over her small wooden table. All the tributes sat in an almost clinical-looking room; those from the richer districts at the front, the poorer ones at the back.
Ama was sure it was a test. She had already answered the questions on the paper sheet in five minutes. They were trivial questions about her family, her leisure activities or the peculiarities of her life. Why did it take the others so long? Ama needed the time for the basic training. Of course, she knew some of the basics, but that didn't automatically make her as dangerous as the career tributes. She had watched the privileged youth with a watchful eye. With Wayne and Nolan, she was firmly convinced that the two had more muscles than minds and that they could be put in well. Diana Lane, the girl from District 2, however, made Ama wonder why she was involved in this. Of course, building a new shelter was noble, but was it really worth her life?!
The only one who really managed to fulfill Ama's ideas of a career was Lucretia Aurum. With her glossy blonde hair and snake-like eyes, the 18-year-old looked like a revenge angel. If Ama really dared to join the careers, it was Lucretia who she had to convince. "Please leave the room now. Leave the questionnaires on the tables. You will now be escorted to the training hall," a peacekeeper said. Quietly muttering, the others stood up. Many stuck to their district partners, others avoided looking themselves in the eye at all. Ama briefly looked at Qantuta, who had apparently quickly befriended the girl from District 10. She didn't like him; She made no secret of this. He wouldn't win, that should also be clear to their mentors Seeder and Chaff. Why did they encourage him? The two mentors were closed to her, almost as if they were trying to ignore her. At dinner, she would talk to them. She joined the back end of the row, which consisted of the two tributes from District 6. They chatted whispering about the outstanding individual hours, in which the performance of the tributes was assessed on a scale of 1-12 to determine who had the best chance of winning. "I heard that last time there was someone who accidentally stabbed a coach," the girl told the boy. "The first thing the Gamemakers did, was to let the mutts kill him. Actually, we should be glad that Blight won."
"Do you mean the boy from District Four?" asked Ama, looking at the younger girl inquiringly. Frightened that she had been approached, the boy answered instead. "You're Ama, right? I'm Rolan and this is," he explained, but was interrupted by Brea. "I am Brea. And no, that's not an abbreviation for Beatrix or Breanne," she said, but remained silent with her eyes pinched as Rolan reached out to her. "I'm happy to meet you. Why are you running around alone? Isn't it something like an unwritten law to stick with your district partner on the first day?" asked Rolan kindly. Ama briefly shook his hand. Friendly people were suspicious to her; maybe it was because she was only kind if she wanted something. Smiling, she let go of his hand. "I don't think he likes me very much," she said. Before one of the three could answer, the door to the training center opened.
The tributes poured into the sprawling hall. On a pedestal in the middle stood a dark-skinned woman with a strict braid and an all-white uniform. With an iron expression, she watched as the tributes gathered around her. Ama stood next to Brea and Rolan. She noticed Brea stoically dismembering her face as she looked at the white uniform. Probably it had something to do with her criminal past, Ama thought. As it turned out, the woman in the uniform was the Supreme Training Director. She earnestly explained to the tributes how to behave and what their priorities should be: "I know that many will ignore my advice over the next three days. You have been warned, remember, if your results will not be as you wish. You are the forge of your success, not me or any of my colleagues. We will assist you as much as possible during the training period and answer questions, even if you need a professional opinion. You have three hours left until lunch, so use them wisely."
The careers immediately went to the weapons stations, chatting loudly, as if the volume convinced the other tributes of their skills or strength. Next to her, Brea wrinkled her forehead suspiciously, and Rolan also stared angrily at them.
"What do they think of who they are!" Brea said angrily, before stoking at Rolan to stop staring. "No idea, but until we're in the arena, they don't have a right to perform like they're champions," Ama agreed. She saw the four tributes give themselves a handshake to make it clear that there was again a typical alliance between the strongest. Something about her arrogance made Ama angry, but she also knew that she herself was by no means as angelic as she pretended to be. You just had to hide your own dark side from the others to gain confidence.
"I think we should show them that we're able to be as good as them. What do you think of a unit with the axes?" asked Ama. "Who said you belong to our team?" said Brea, astonished, but Ama saw her jaw tighten. Someone probably had trust problems. Such people were dangerous because they questioned every word and were not easy to control. Rolan raised his arms appealingly. "She can at least do the first stops with us. At some point, almost everyone will have talked to everyone. Remember, Brea, you don't make enemies," the boy explained. For a short time, it was quiet. The two tributes from District 6 stared at each other before Brea snorted. Her red curls swung into her face as she turned around and proudly swayed to the axes.
"She doesn't like me very much, doesn't she?" Ama shoved her hands into her jacket pockets. Rolan grinned before pulling her to the axes. "I don't think Brea is a fan of people in general. Don't take it personally, Ama. At first, she stared at me as if she was thinking about how to kill me in the most pleasant way," he said. Brea was already standing on the wall of arms and had a trainer give her a matching axe. "Are you both coming here today? We don't have time forever!" Brea shouted, throwing the axe with full force after a dummy. His head rolled over the grey concrete floor and the artificial blood squirted Brea in the face. She looked almost bestially as she stood over the decapitated dummy and smiled contentedly.
"Are you sure she didn't mean it seriously when she was talking about killing you? She seems to explode quickly," she whispered to Rolan, so as not to get Brea's attention. If Ama wanted to win the confidence of the two from 6, it would take a lot of time and effort. The first step in the right direction would be to pull Rolan to her side, because Brea seemed to trust him, or rather listened to him. "We'll see that in the arena," he said. The trainer in charge approached the two with two silver axes. "Only one can win anyway," Rolan muttered, reaching for the axe. "It doesn't matter who kills you."
Ivy Barker, 17, District 7 female
The unpleasant smell of sweat and vomit rose into her nose as Paul bent over to hold her hair out of her face as she vomited into a bucket. "Are you sure you don't want to see a doctor, Ivy? You look pretty exhausted after the many laps on the track," Paul asked anxiously. "How many more times can I say that I had just eaten too much mess before?! I'm fine," Ivy quipped, embarrassingly avoiding looking into the bucket with her vomited stomach contents. To be honest, that was only half the truth. Ivy had previously remained silent when it came to her health. No one cares, whether she was healthy or not, as long as she was not on the verge of death. In the past few days it has got worse again with her ADHD and the headaches. Ivy lay awake for the last few nights before falling asleep, but sleep didn't bring her any rest. It took her a lot of persuasion to convince Blight not to send her to the doctor. Ivy just didn't want to risk anyone learning about her illness, not so close to the games. Sponsors would jump off if they found out about it, and Blight would also be disappointed that she didn't trust him enough.
"I'm going to empty the bucket," one coach offered, taking it out of her hands. "I advise you not to do such a strenuous activity until the end of the day. Not that it's back in use.' The trainer sympathetically lifted up the bright red bucket with a grinning grin and made his way to the sanitary facilities. "That's so embarrassing," Ivy muttered with deep red cheeks. Paul patted her on the shoulders and jumped up. "Because we're going to go our separate ways in the arena anyway, I'm going to run a few more rounds. Take a break, Ivy, and then continue at a survival station," Paul answered honestly, turning up the music in the loudspeaker system loudly and running off to the sounds of a rock band. Ivy got back on her feet and looked around the big training hall. Since Paul had already made it clear several times that he would not ally with her, she now needed someone else whom she could trust so far, not to be stabbed in the back of her sleep. The first thing that caught the eye was the careers, who talked loudly and planned a competition in archery. The tributes from Districts 1 and 2, sometimes 4, brought home the most winners and thus formed an elite of their se. Although Ivy had trained for a long time for the emergency that had now arrived, she did not want to risk being ridiculed in front of these tributes. Blight had told her to follow the loners. Ivy turned away from the careers and went to the gallery for water combat.
For many children in District 7, it was normal to learn to swim in one of the forest lakes. In summer, the cool wet was often one of the few ways to avoid the heat that swells under the trees. Everyone in her age group could swim – except for Ivy herself. When Ivy climbed the spiral staircase to the gallery, she smelled the chlorine used to sterilize the water. In the elongated pool, one of the trainers just threw a spear after the male tribute from District 4, Fen. Elegantly, the blonde dived under water to dodge the spear. The water splashed out of the pool on all sides, leaving shimmering puddles on the sandstone. Bright sunlight shone through a square window opening and made the water radiant aquamarine. A trainer approached Ivy.
"I want to learn how to swim," she said quietly, with a sense of shame. "Maybe you should ask him if he teaches you. He's been here for an hour," the trainer calmly explained, going to get Ivy a wetsuit in her size. Her partner just got out of the floodwaters and left Fen alone in the water. Ivy stroked her bare arms. Rowan had always wanted to teach her how to swim, but she had refused to do anything out of sheer shame. If only she hadn't been so stubborn.
"Are you all right? You're so pale," said Fen, who suddenly stood next to her and rubbed his wet hair with a towel. Fen was closer to her when Ivy was fond. She moved away from him a little bit. "It's nothing - I just don't like being in the water, but Blight said I should visit every station once," she said stutteringly, accepting the trainer's wetsuit. "Can you swim?" asked Fen cautiously, painting a smiley on the fogged glass pane that separated the area. The boy's dark blue eyes flashed kindly as he reached out to her with his hand. 'Sorry, I didn't even introduce myself. Fen Orta, District 4. You have to be the girl from 7."
With a shy smile, Ivy shook his hand. By his hand pressure alone, she felt that he was pressing softly, but actually much stronger than he admitted. No wonder for someone who grew up in a career district. "Ivy. Nice to get to know you. Why aren't you with them?" she said, pointing to the other careers who were at the camouflage station with a head movement. Fen snorted loudly and threw the towel on the wooden bench. "I've seen your district partner, Paul, leave you alone just now. Why aren't you with him?"
Ivy was playing on her bracelet when she looked on the tiled floor. "He doesn't want allies in the games," she said. Fen's gaze stuck to her stone face. "My district partner didn't want me to work with the careers either. And honestly, I'm glad I'm not one of them now. They are so ... nasty, mean." "Do you already have an ally?" she asked him, surprised by her courage. Fen got up from the bench. 'Not yet, but I don't know if I want anyone at all. Shasta didn't want me either...", he whispered, then he turned his head to look her in the eyes. "Change and I'll show you how to swim. Maybe we can have an alliance."
"That would be lovely. I'll be back in a few minutes", Ivy smiled. Ten minutes later, she and her new ally were splashing water in every direction. They deserved a little bit of fun, right?!
Artemesia Rutherford, 25, Head Gamemaker
Loudly, her heels clattered on the marble tiles, the coffee almost spilled over the edge of the cup. Artemesia drove her way through her hair. The morning had already begun with unforeseen rain, which took her the opportunity to attend one of the biggest sponsor parties. In a garden, it was a bad idea to party in the rain, she thought with a grin and took a file that was handed to her. "What is it all about?" she asked, letting the assistant report. They stretched out proudly. "The main thing is that we were able to take back control over the water sources and that everything is ready to go." Artemesia nodded knowingly before dismissing the woman. The door of the conference hall was wide open. Already from the hallway she could hear Hygenia Rabastan squeegeeing together, that he had drunk too much yesterday.
Artemesia had skipped the first celebrations for the start of the new game season as usual. After talking to Atticus, she couldn't look anyone in the eye without being ashamed. Why did he agree? This question was spitting in her head all night and did not let her rest. Didn't he want to play their little games anymore? Or would he just blackmail them with it? She became flabby. She would trust Atticus to do everything in order to be better than her. If he wanted something, it would get, no matter on how many corpses he had to walk. So did he do her this favor only out of his own interest, who really did something to him about her well-being? The two had always been close to each other, had grown up together and went to school. Artemesia knew his ambition because he was hardly smaller than her own. He would probably already be sitting in the conference room and stopping Hygenia from going to the gurgle of Rabastan if he teased her for her style.
"Good morning!" she roared cheerfully as she entered the room. The pictures of the tributes could already be seen on the white screen, even if not yet in the arena uniform. Today was a purely obligatory day when she went through everything with the team again. The uniform was presented, the filling of the cornucopia and one took a closer look at the tributes to find out who to pay special attention to in training. Artemesia responded rather sluggishly tired voices. "Did you wait a long time yesterday?" she asked and saw Hygenia amplified the powder on her eye rings. "Who said we didn't come straight from the party mile?" said Rabastan, yawning loudly. Astonished, she discovered that Atticus had not yet been here. Heavily swallowing, she turned away so that Hygenia and Rabastan did not see how finished it made her even close to Atticus. "You go home after the meeting and rest. I can't need you to sleep," Artemesia said. It was short and you could only hear the annoying ticking of the clock.
Just as she sat down, she saw from the corner of her eye how Atticus and Azrael were talking at the reception. No one could make Azrael talk except Hygenia, but only because Azrael had been shot into her for years. Artemesia had not taken it upon her heart to tell him that Hygenia was actually a lesbian and therefore had no interest in him. Hygenia bent over Artemesia's shoulders. "Hard to believe, right? Normally Azrael is silent like a grave, but with Atticus he chats with your aunt like my mother," she whispered, waving to her. Hygenia's mother, Chanel Heather, was one of the most sought-after designers in the Capitol and was really only worn by the elite. Artemesia had met Hygenia because her aunt, who owned Capitol Vogue and needed help with Hygenia's mother Chanel's latest fall fashion, took her to a meeting. By God, the two older ladies could talk like waterfalls and kept deviating from the subject until they ended up at garden decorations, even though they were talking about evening dresses.
"I don't know what you're thinking right now, but I think it makes Atticus incredibly attractive when he's wearing black suits," Hygenia giggled, and Artemesia snuffed her side. When Hygenia looked away, Artemesia looked again at the two men. Black suited him really well, she thought, before quickly turning away, so as not to give the impression that she was staring at the two of them. "Sometimes I wonder how I could stand with you for so long," Rabastan said dryly, shouting to the other two members of the control council that they should finally get in.
After two hours, they finally got to the really important topics. "Hygenia, how far are you with the uniforms for the arena?" asked Artemesia, drinking her fourth coffee empty. The blue-haired smiled contentedly. "Completely finished. Everything the way you wanted it. Do you want to see the stuff? I have them with me," Hygenia said, pulling out a silver bag. "You have to be more careful, Hygenia," warned Azrael, who once again sat in the corner and waited until needed.
"Oh, don't act like that. I make sure that no one sees things before the start of the games," the stylist muttered back, pulling out a set of dress-ups. "A simple short-sleeved white T-shirt, soft sports shoes with a reinforced sole, a simple brown belt, a pack of normal underwear and the multifunctional trousers in the respective district color. The thin fabric jackets are kept in the same beige tone as the shoes. Perfect for a Mediterranean arena with balmy nights and hot days." Hygenia looked proudly at the others. Artemesia caressed her kindly over her arm. "It looks really great," she said, typing another hook on her I-Pad.
"Okay, let's get to the most important point: Who has the potential for victory?" asked Atticus, looking around in circles. Now each member would say two names to whom he or she would be most confident of victory. This was the only opportunity as a playmaker to become partisan and to express her own opinion on the tributes. Artemesia looked to Azrael; the master spy had always been right with his name in the last years and also knew interesting information, which was even contained to her so far. With the knowledge Azrael possessed, the secrets he carried around with him, he had to be mentally at the end long ago. Snow always gave him the most disgusting orders because he couldn't suffer him. All because of its origin. Azrael's mother had originally come to the Capitol from District 5 but died after Azrael's birth. "I think it's going to be another career victory. I'm betting on one of the twos," Rabastan said. The Military Officer balanced a pen on the edge of his coffee mug. Hygenia repackaged the clothes. "From what I know about the arena, the winner needs an extremely hard-wearing psyche. Whoever has them is eligible as the winner. My favorites, however, are the girl from 5, who looks similar to Artemesia to be confused, and the boy from 7. Have I looked at his muscles? I bet he knows how to handle an axe and has previous knowledge because he's from District 7," the stylist said. "That's minimal prejudice right now," Rabastan whispered, so only Artemesia could hear him because he was sitting right next to him.
"Personally, I am for the girl from 1 or the boy from 6. Both are quite good-looking, seem to have something in mind and are really good in the polls," Atticus said. The composure with which he said this hurt Artemesia's chest. "The little one is too young for you!" Rabastan shouted jokingly, making Hygenia laugh. Artemesia's smile faded. She bit her cheek so as not to snort Rabastan. Atticus avoided looking in her direction, but Artemesia thought he was even more uncomfortable than her.
But he was right - the girl from District 1, Lucretia Aurum, was really a beauty with her long blonde hair and emerald eyes. When Artemesia thought back to her time at school together, she started to feel a bit bad. Atticus had, if anything, had something with blondes. Lucretia would be exactly his type, she noted sadly. The girl would be 19 in the Games and thus only six years younger than Atticus. If their involvement didn't work and they really had to get married, would he cheat on her? He would have enough woman to throw themselves at him.
"Just keep your mouth shut. You're still drunk, Rabastan," Azrael said. He, too, had looked at the laughing couple badly. Luckily, she had Azrael on her side. "I'm sure Atticus isn't so desperate to fall in love with a tribute. By the way, your father told me that you were supposedly forgiven," Azrael said to Atticus. The president's son clenched his hand to his fist. Artemesia had to defuse this situation, otherwise the shreds flew right here. "I'm sure it's only Atticus who he meets with. If he wants to tell us that, it is up to him to choose the time. Can we now concentrate on our tasks again?!" she quipped angrily. She could not bear this care of her friends now, not if she knew that it would shake all those present infinitely if they knew about Artemesias and Atticus' agreement. At that moment she would really like to be a bird that could just fly away and didn't have to come back. But she had a job to do. Sometimes it was not easy to carry out an office, but it was not only done for themselves, but for the country and the peace it secured. For Panem. For suffering and hatred that you won't get over, not so long Snow lives.
"My favorites are the two from District 4. They work strongly together and have known each other for some time. Shasta is trained, Fen learned archery from his father. Fishing has a long tradition with the northern population of the district," Azrael said. Artemesia nodded contentedly. At least one who is professional.
"Who are you rooting for, Artemesia?" asked Hygenia. Why was everyone interested in Artemesia's opinion? She only made the arenas and designed the venues. Being impartial was her top priority. "Honestly, this year every tribute can win," she replied in a calm voice. "But one thing must be clear for the victor: if they win, they will be as immortal as gods. Their stories will be told, myths and lies, but people will always remember them.
