Chapter Five.
w w w. breaktheicehg. blogspot. c o m
Cleo Halston
District One, 18 Years Old
Cleo was giddy as she watched herself on the screen.
"I volunteer," she let out a soft whisper as she watched the recaps of District One's reaping. Cleo commended herself on her unparalleled presence on the stage and judged the escort's gaudy make-up and her District partner's disheveled appearance, his hair seemingly unwashed and his shirt untucked.
Cleo was appalled at his disregard for the image of District One. Frankly, she expected more from someone like him, someone from a wealthy family in District One. The Veitch family were almost as well-known as the Halston family.
"That's how you make an impression," she said, not directed towards anyone in particular. "Drachma, pay attention. Look at us!"
"Busy," Drachma replied shortly, dismissing her. He was sitting at the bar with his mentor, Thane, snacking on a display of bright-colored treats. Cleo wrinkled her nose in disgust. She never let herself indulge in such vices; processed sugar was not in her regimented diet.
Cleo was disappointed to see that the District One recaps were over and District Two was now on the screen, with the female volunteer taking the stage, strutting down the aisle, taking large, confident strides with every step, her brunette hair flowing behind her.. She was followed by the male volunteer, a tall, broad-shouldered red-head. He smiled, standing firmly next to the girl, watching her out of the corner of his eye.
So far, Cleo had nothing to worry about. She could tell they were smug just by the way they carried themselves, and Cleo knew better than to be intimidated by haughtiness. Cleo met the egotistical and snobbish tycoons her father dealt with – they were a vulgar bunch, their eyes lingering on Cleo for a little too long, but she was flattered nonetheless – and she learned firsthand how not to display one's pride.
Unlike those men and the District Two tributes, there was an elegance to Cleo's pride. She carried herself in a tasteful, poised manner. In District One, she sat upon a pedestal of her own, peering down at those below her, scoffing at those who challenged her influence, her power.
Cleo's thoughts subsided as she realized no one was acknowledging her and she stood up from the couch, letting the recap of District Three's reaping continue in the background. Cleo was particularly bothered that Cashmere, her mentor, was silent since they boarded the train.
"Hi, Cashmere."
"It was only a matter of time," Cashmere replied, looking over her shoulder. "What do you want?"
"Let's talk strategy," she said, and Cashmere grimaced. Cleo was taken back by Cashmere's sheer disrespect. "Or not."
"I have better things to be doing than babysitting brats like you, Cleo."
Cleo knew that, in reality, Cashmere had to be their mentor. District One was down three victors that year, and Cleo relished in the fact that Cashmere had no choice but to be there. They both had to sit through the insufferable charade of pretending to like one another for only a few more days, and although Cleo attempted to play nice, she was no longer interested in forming a relationship with Cashmere.
"Like what?" Cleo snapped. "How old are you now, anyways? Seventy? Eighty?"
"Hush, child," Cashmere replied, taking a sip from her champagne flute. "I used to be like you, you know. It's what won me the Games."
"Does that mean if I keep this up, I'll turn out like you?" Cleo taunted.
"It won't work for you," Cashmere deadpanned, ignoring Cleo. "It's not what Panem likes to see anymore. It's not what will get sponsors to send you gifts."
"And why is that?" Cleo replied, unbothered by Cashmere's remarks. She was exactly what Panem liked to see. She was alluring. She was trained. She was the epitome of what the Capitol expected of a tribute from District One.
"They want someone who's real," Cashmere replied. "Not another delusional Career."
Cleo shrugged off Cashmere's insult; she's heard it before by those envious of everything Cleo had, of everything Cleo was. Cleo pitied those people and she pitied Cashmere too.
"All of this is real," Cleo sneered, pointing to her face. "Can't say the same about your nose."
"Whatever this gimmick is," Cashmere replied, pointing the champagne flute towards Cleo. Cleo's patience with Cashmere's attitude was wearing thin. "It's been done before."
Cleo was flabbergasted. Cashmere was wrong – Cleo Halston has not been done before.
At one point in her life, Cleo was satisfied by just being Cleo Halston, but after realizing she was capable of much, much more, she became insatiable. Her family, and the rest of District One, expected her to be more than just Cleo Halston. She recognized her potential to be more than just the daughter of the largest spirits manufacturers in Panem. She was the heiress to the Halston empire in District One and she had to act like it.
Expectations were heavy on the shoulders of the Halston daughter, and for so long, Cleo was worried that she was not living up to her potential, that she was disappointing her parents, wallowing in her own self-doubt. If she wanted to uphold her reputation, she needed to become more than just Cleo Halston. She needed to have her own reputation outside of her family name, and to Cleo, that meant winning the Hunger Games.
Cleo fantasized about the future, where she would casually walk through the park without a care in the world. She would smell of roses and lavender and wear the most ostentatious fashion from the Capitol, adorned with tasteful jewelry. People would run up to her, gushing with excitement, squealing her name. People would love her. People would know her as more than just a Halston daughter.
Victor Cleo Halston.
She expected nothing less of herself.
Cassia Roenisch
District Three, 15 Years Old
"What's this?"
Cassia rummaged through the cabinets underneath the bar, not looking for anything in particular. She was curious what types of snacks the train was stocked with that she didn't have in District Three. She wanted to try something that looked fancy and expensive. She was always fascinated by Capitol culture and she used this as an opportunity to learn more about it, to see what they ate, what they drank, what they wore.
Cassia continued to open each cabinet, pulling all of the cannisters out and opening them, peering in to see if there was anything she could try. In one cabinet, she found a box of chocolates, and she opened it, holding it up so the others could see. It was an assortment of tiny squares of dark and milk chocolate with floral designs sketched into them and nuts in the center.
Yum.
"Anyone want one?" Cassia said, intently looking at each chocolate to see which one she wanted to try. Cassia couldn't make up her hand and grabbed one of each. "They have almonds in them!
Cassia's District partner, Everett, was sitting with their two mentors, none of them paying attention to her. They were introducing themselves to each other, talking about mundane topics like the weather that day and where Everett lived in District Three. Cassia was more interested in the chocolate.
She was usually the chatty one in a room, but she had too much energy to sit still, and so she decided to distract herself by running around the train, inspecting everything she could touch. She was restless, overwhelmed by nerves, but Cassia, being the happy-go-lucky girl she was, was more enthralled by her surroundings.
"Come take a seat, Cassia," Aidan said, waving his hand towards the seat next to Cassia's mentor, Allonia. They were all looking at Cassia, and she walked over, bringing the box of chocolates, and pushed it towards Everett. "Let's all get to know each other."
"Do you like chocolate?" Cassia said, a friendly smile on her face, leaning towards Everett. Cassia wanted to befriend her District partner, and she thought chocolate would do the trick. "Try one!"
"No," he curtly replied, focusing his attention back on Aidan. "What were you saying before we were interrupted?"
"Okay..." Cassia mumbled, recoiling her arms and crossing them over her chest. Allonia reached for the box of chocolates, took one out, and bit into it. Cassia smirked, looked back at Everett, and shrugged. What type of person doesn't like chocolate?
The group continued to exchange small talk, and after a while, the conversation shifted to more serious topics, as Aidan and Allonia brought up what Everett and Cassia should expect when they arrived in the Capitol. Cassia was intrigued by getting dressed up, but her smile and excitement faltered as Aidan mentioned the training days ahead of them. Cassia couldn't bear the thought of having to learn how to use a weapon.
"Do either of you have a game plan?" Aidan asked, and Everett and Cassia shook their heads. "You should start strategically thinking about allies. You need to figure out who looks trustworthy, who you could see yourself sleeping next to in the arena."
"I don't want allies," Everett said bluntly. "There's no point if only one of us can win."
"They may seem counterintuitive, but they are crucial," Allonia explained, and she glanced at Cassia, who remained silent during this part of the conversation. "You can start with each other."
"I like that idea," Cassia replied, offering Everett a friendly smile. Cassia's first impression of Everett wasn't too positive, but she would still consider the idea of allying with him. She excused his behavior, thinking that it was because he was still processing being reaped. She understood, and related to, his reaction to everything they were going through.
"I don't," Everett retorted, and Cassia winced, her hopeful smile contorting into a frown. "I don't want allies."
Cassia didn't even know if she wanted allies. She didn't know what she would want, or how she would feel, in the Capitol. She wasn't ready to think about that. She wanted to live in the moment, to enjoy the train ride while it lasted, and to not think about the future. In that moment, she wanted to befriend the District Three mentors. She didn't want to think about what came next.
The thought of arriving in the Capitol, of meeting the other tributes, of not going to sleep in her rickety bed back home was unsettling. The thought of dying and never returning to District Three terrified her. She wasn't ready to think about any of that.
District Three was her home, and she wasn't ready to say goodbye to it. She wasn't ready to say goodbye to her friends, to the streets she roamed, to the random people on the streets she became familiar with, the ones she would make small-talk with just to learn more about their lives. She appreciated those moments more than anything else in life, and she wasn't ready to say goodbye.
In a place as dreary as District Three, she made the most of it, looking for the small things that made her home unique. Whether that was a person or an abandoned building, she sought after the things that she saw herself in. The things that made her laugh and smile. The things that were individualistic – that were odd enough – to make her feel accepted. She wasn't ready to say goodbye to, and so she decided that, in the Capitol, she would live her life as carefree as she did in District Three.
She would live as if nothing changed.
As if there was nothing to worry about.
Orion Adarna
District Seven, 16 Years Old
"Anyone like apples?"
The District Seven mentors, Dara and Paine, attempted to chat with his District partner, Ciana, as they sat down on the couches near the windows of the train cart. She was quiet, her arms crossed over her chest, staring out the window. She mumbled her responses to their questions, clearly disengaged from the conversation.
"What about green? Yellow? Red?" Orion continued, picking up a red apple, tossing it into the air and catching it. "Red it is."
"I'll take–"
"Let me guess," Orion interrupted Dara, holding up a green and yellow apple. "You strike me as a yellow type-of-girl."
"Correct," Dara replied, and Orion grabbed a yellow apple and an extra red apple. He tossed the yellow apple to Dara and sat down with the group, sliding the red apple towards Ciana. She grabbed it and cupped her hands around it. "It's not easy to find these in District Seven."
"Tell me about it," Orion said, taking another bite of the apple. "To think that fresh produce is a luxury. What type of world do we live in?"
"A cruel, apple-less world!" Pain jeered, and they all laughed, except for Ciana. She sat there quietly, leaning her head against the window pane. "Try it, Ciana!"
Ciana flinched, startled at the sound of her name, and looked at Orion and their mentors. Orion watched her firmly squeeze the apple between her two palms, and he was intrigued by her demeanor. He had a lot of questions for her. Mainly, why did she volunteer? Orion couldn't understand why Ciana volunteered, why she would purposely want to be in the Hunger Games. It didn't make sense, and that's why Orion was intrigued by her. Orion was always drawn to people who seemed unique and to those who seemed like they had an interesting story for Orion to learn about.
"Why did you volunteer?" He blurted out. Orion needed to know why Ciana did it. All of District Seven was curious.
"I don't want to talk about it," she shouted, raising her voice and looking up from her lap. "Can everyone stop asking me about it?!"
"I'm… I'm sorry," Orion replied, instantly regretting that he ever brought it up. He should've known better than to prod, to put her on the spot like that. "I'm sorry. I'm just curious."
"All of Panem is," she replied, playing with the apple to distract herself. Orion was quiet, wanting to apologize again, to say that he didn't need to know. "Let's move on."
"Good idea," Orion replied, biting his lip as he thought of other questions to ask. Questions that were lighthearted, that would hopefully not offend Ciana. "What do you do for fun?"
"Fun?" Dara chimed in. "In District Seven? No such thing!"
"Really?" Orion replied, smirking as the memories of all the fun him and his friends had crept into his mind. "There's tons of fun things to do."
"Like what?"
"How long is this train ride again?" Orion joked. That was a loaded question for him.
Orion sat back, recalling the times he spent with his friends after a party, sitting on a hill on the outskirts of District Seven, coming down from being drunk or high or whatever he indulged in that night. They would watch the guard towers light up, the spotlights shining on every inch of District Seven, but never on Orion and his friends. They went unnoticed by the Peacekeepers doing their rounds, and occasionally, a stray dog would find them, and they would joke about what Panem would be like if animals could be reaped.
Orion thought of the times where he'd laugh with his friends for hours. He thought of his best friend, Tayan, and their time spent behind planning how to break into the Mayor's House. It never happened, but the thought of doing so was all Orion needed to be entertained. He thought of his hotheaded friend, Andri, who never knew how to take a joke. He would always threaten the Peacekeepers time after time for telling them it was past their curfew. He thought of Anais and her jaded sense of humor and her pockets that were always lined with money. Orion never knew where she got it from, but he knew not to ask.
Orion never questioned anything with his friends. They simply existed as they did whatever they wanted, and Orion wanted his friends to continue living their life when he was gone. Orion swore that he planned on doing the same.
He was leaving District Seven – he knew he had no choice, so he shrugged it off – but he wasn't going to change. In the Capitol, and perhaps even in the arena, he would still enjoy himself every step of the way.
He would still do whatever the fuck he wanted.
Amias Yarrow
District Eleven, 17 Years Old
Amias gazed out the window as the train departed the station.
He watched District Eleven slowly disappear into the background, taking in the picturesque landscapes. He knew that it could be his last time ever seeing District Eleven, and he wanted to remember it fondly. The orchards, the fields, and to a lesser extent, the fence surrounding the district topped with barbed wire.
Amias would miss District Eleven, but he found comfort in knowing that he was surrounded by others from District Eleven in the train. He was accompanied by two victors who survived the Hunger Games and made it back to District Eleven, and he set his sights on following in their footsteps. He would return to District Eleven – where he was happiest – and get his family out of their small, one-room cottage.
He was scared of the Games, but he wouldn't let it be his downfall. If anything, he would overcome his fear for his family. He would try to survive for them.
"Take it in while you can," Kaeya, one of the District Eleven mentors, said. "The Capitol isn't as… natural. Most of the trees are fake."
"Fake?" Amias replied, smirking. "Like plastic?"
"Yup. They're synthetic," she explained, both of them chuckling. "Apparently, they're less maintenance. You don't need to water or trim them."
"That's sad," Amias said, looking outside at the trees, the train's speed blurring the landscape. He noticed Cara was sitting alone at the table in the center of the train cart, staring at her hands. "Imagine that, Cara. Fake trees."
"Guess that gives us another reason to want to come home," Cara replied. "For the trees."
Amias walked over to the table, chuckling, and sat down across from Cara. Their mentors, Kaeya and Cailen, sat down next to them, and Cailen poured everyone a glass of water. They all quietly took sips of water, coming off the high of laughing at fake trees, and reality started to settle in for Amias and Cara.
"Do either of you have any questions? About the Capitol or the Games?" Cailen asked. "We know how overwhelming all of this is, and that's why we're here. To share our experience and help prepare you in any way we can."
"But, that was your experience," Cara quipped, and Cailen coughed mid-swallow as she took a sip of water. She cleared her throat, her eyes flicking from Kaeya to Amias, all of them caught off guard by her shift in attitude. "Our arena will be different and so will the other tributes. Nothing will be the same as your Games."
"Some things will be the same, like training and the interviews," Cailen replied calmly. "Some things change in the Capitol, but some never do. They respect tradition."
"Tradition?" Amias questioned, weary of the situation, wishing that Cara didn't push back, that they went back to introducing themselves and laughing at each other's jokes about District Eleven. "What do you mean?"
"We've learned what the Capitol's tendencies are. Some of their tricks, like mutts, are predictable," Kaeya interjected, picking up where Cailen left off. "We're not here to tell you to do exactly what we did, Cara. We're here to tell you what to look out for."
"That's a good point," Amias said, stepping in to mediate the situation so it didn't escalate. Amias agreed with Cara that they couldn't rely solely on their mentors' assessment of the Hunger Games, but Amias still respected and valued their thoughts. "What were your arenas?"
"A museum," Cailen replied. Amias was particularly interested in Cailen's experiences with the Hunger Games, since she was reaped for the Fourth Quarter Quell among other children associated with the rebellion. District Eleven was elated to have her home, and to the District's surprise, there was no further retaliation from the Capitol. Cailen returned home and the District's unrest slowly subsided. "Full of violent stone statues, paintings that depicted the rebellion."
The group nodded in silence, acknowledging the gravity of the circumstances surrounding Cailen's Games. She was seen as a rebel by the Capitol, and yet, they let her live. They let her return to District Eleven, trusting that she wouldn't join the few rebels that were left in Panem. They let her live and Cailen didn't let that go unrecognized.
"Mine was a corn maze," Kaeya replied, chuckling. She placed her hand on Cailen's leg, and Cailen placed her hand on top of Kaeya's hand. "Fitting, huh?"
"Seriously?" Cara perked up, and Amias was relieved by the jovial tone in her voice. He wanted nothing but for the four of them to have a cordial relationship.
"It's been so many years, so I can laugh about it now," Kaeya continued. "Most of the corn was tainted, too. A few tributes died on the first night alone from eating it for dinner."
"Fake trees and poisonous corn?" Cailen chimed in, inserting herself back into the conversation. "That sounds like a District Eleven nightmare."
To Amias, it all sounded like a nightmare. The chariot rides, the training, the interviews. He didn't want to participate in any of it, but he knew if that's the attitude he had, he would fall behind the other tributes. If he wanted to win – if he wanted to return to the real trees and fresh produce of District Eleven – he couldn't complain.
He had to do what he was told. He had to become the type of tribute the Capitol wanted. The type of tribute he watched on the television every year. The type that killed, that survived, that won.
Whether Amias liked it or not, that was who he had to emulate.
Beau Cairne
District Twelve, 17 Years Old
"He's my son!"
Celosia wrapped her arms around Ashra, consoling her as she weeped in agony. Beau sat there, staring at his mother, knowing that nothing would make her calm down. Her worst nightmare came true – her cherished son was reaped. The son that she swore would never be reaped, the son that would go untouched by the Capitol and the Hunger Games. Most victors did not have children, in fear of them being sent to the Games, but Ashra pushed down that fear for her own chance at happiness. He was her life, and now, he was in the same situation Ashra was in nearly twenty years ago.
"They can't take him away from me!" She screeched, and Beau's District partner, Marcella, flinched at the piercing sound of Ashra's voice. Celosia approached Beau and Marcella, wanting to at least attempt to salvage their time together and make it valuable for them both. There was nothing that Celosia could do for Ashra except help her son, and Celosia wanted Beau to survive for Ashra's sake. She would do anything she could to make that happen.
"You two are chatty," Celosia said sarcastically, and Beau side-eyed her, visibly uncomfortable that he was sat near a girl who looked like she was pulled out of a dumpster in District Twelve. Her hair was disheveled, and she had a cut on her lip that was crusted with blood and bruises down her arms. "So… allies?"
"I'm not allying with her," Beau retorts, pointing at Marcella. She perked up, baring her teeth, and he turned up his nose and flicked his hands toward her. "Could you not have cleaned yourself up for the reaping? You look like a stray cat."
"Grow up, Beau," Ashra interjected, composing herself as she wiped the tears off of her face. The reality for her was that her son was reaped, that he was going into the Hunger Games. At least, in that moment, she could be his mentor and his mother. "Leave her alone. She's all you have right now."
Marcella stared at Beau, trembling with frustration. This was not the first snide comment from someone like Beau – the snobs of the District, as Marcella called them – she's heard in her life. She was used to being poorly treated, tossed to the side, and ignored in District Twelve.
"She's making me nervous," Beau whispered to his mother, standing up from his seat. He approached Marcella and bent down so that they were face-to-face. "Are you okay? Are you mute?"
Marcella let out a guttural scream, flailing her arms at Beau. Beau jumped back, scrunching his nose and turning his face away. Celosia pulled her back, whispered in her ear, and tried to calm down. Marcella continued to stare at Beau, her teeth exposed, and Beau stepped backwards towards Ashra, ensuring there was enough space just in case Marcella pulled anything else like that.
A stray cat. That's all she is.
"This is why I don't leave the gates of the Victor's Village," he whispered to his mother, chuckling at himself. He was used to living comfortably and safely in the gated community with the other victors, and went all of his life unbothered by what happened beyond those gates. "Speaking of, how's Axel?"
"He's fine," Ashra replied, preoccupied with her own thoughts. She was still grappling with her son being reaped and that she was mentoring him. That she would have to watch him in the arena, that she would stay awake every night and day to check up on him.
"Where's Axel?" Beau said, rephrasing his question. He knew how he was doing since he spent a lot of time with Axel, as well as the other victors. Axel spent most of his time alone, but after incessant banging on his door, he would eventually let Beau inside.
"In District Twelve?" Ashra replied rather literally, not understanding Beau's question.
"No offense, Celosia. You're great, but..." he said, pausing mid-sentence, trying to find the right words. He didn't want to offend her, but he would have preferred to see Axel there instead of her. "I was hoping that Axel would be the stray cat's mentor."
"None taken," she replied. Marcella perked up at Beau's name-calling and shifted in her seat. "I wish he was here too. Being stuck on a train with you is insufferable, Beau."
Celosia and Beau laughed heartily, but his mother was unamused, tapping her finger on the tabletop. He nudged her with his arm, not wanting to prod, because he already knew what she was worrying about. Like his mother, he was scared of the Hunger Games. The Games were something that the other victors did not talk about with Beau. He was told by Ashra that it was not something he needed to worry about.
"It's okay, mom," Beau said, not believing his own words. It is not okay. "It will be okay. I promise."
He was scared – a feeling Beau was not familiar with. But, he couldn't express this fear. He couldn't try to put into words what he was feeling. He didn't want to embarrass his mother and his District like that. He didn't want to embarrass himself. He was the son of a victor, and he was raised to be anything but scared. He would win just like his mother did. She killed five tributes in her Games – the most out of any District Twelve victor – and he was just as strong, adaptable, and wilful as she was. Even if Beau didn't believe in himself just yet, he would.
That's the only way he would win the Hunger Games.
The only way he would return to District Twelve.
Author's Note:
Happy Friday!
Here are the train rides and five more tributes. Next chapter is going to be a different take on the Chariot Rides, where you meet three new tributes.
What do you think of these five tributes?
See y'all soon :)