Chapter Thirteen.
w w w. breaktheicehg. blogspot. c o m
Avena Raiden
District Nine, 14 Years Old
Preparing for the Meet-and-Greet
"What's your favorite color, dear?"
Avena's stylist, Dorit, craned her neck, looking at her in the mirror of the vanity. She wrapped bundles of Avena's dark blonde hair around a curling iron with and pushed a box of different colored bows towards her.
"Blue," Avena replied, leaning forward on the vanity, batting her eyelashes. "Is there sky blue?"
"There's every color you can imagine!" Dorit said, placing the curling iron down on the counter. She picked up the sky blue-colored bow and hovered it above Avena's head. "Blue will complement your eyes."
Avena had a giddy smile on her face. "Yay!"
"You're almost done," Dorit said, squinting her eye as she adjusted the bow in Avena's hair. She situated it towards the back of her head, clipping it into her curled hair. "You're breathtaking, Avena."
"Thank you," Avena whispered, blushing. "Thank you so much, Dorit."
"Don't thank me, darling," Dorit said, taking a step back from the vanity. "It's easy when you're naturally beautiful. Some of the other District Nine tributes I've had in the past, on the other hand…"
Avena giggled. "Thank you for everything. You've made the Hunger Games fun."
Fun. The word sounded odd coming out of Avena's mouth. None of this was fun, but her stylist and her team made Avena look forward to something throughout all of this. Avena liked to dress up, to play pretend. She liked the way the makeup and dresses made her feel.
"You too," Dorit said, stepping forward and placing her hand on Avena's shoulder. "It's been a pleasure to get to know you, Avena."
Avena hopped out of the salon chair, and approached Dorit, wrapping her arms around her. They hugged for a moment, and Dorit pulled back, holding onto Avena's shoulders. Avena would've preferred to stay in her District's quarters with Dorit and her assistants, her mentors, and Aedan, but she knew that was wishful thinking.
"I saved the best part for last," Dorit said, taking a dress covered in a garment cover off a hook on the wall. Avena played with strands of her curled hair in anticipation. "The dress we made for you."
Made me for me, she thought. Avena was elated that a dress was made and tailored for her.
Dorit unzipped the garment cover, revealing a beige colored dress with intricate designs in a darker brown. There were patches of floral designs, mixed with large swaths of a light orange fabric. It reminded Avena of the sun rising over the grain fields of District Nine. Avena gasped, unable to contain her excitement. She slipped into the dress, and she turned around to let Dorit zip the back, and Avena stared at herself in the mirror.
It was beautiful.
And it was all for her.
Dorit's assistants opened the door of the bathroom, and Avena stepped out, welcomed by her mentors and Aedan clapping. Aedan was in a beige suit with similar patterns, colors, and designs to Avena. She walked towards them, looking at herself in the mirror, holding up the edges of her dress, twirling around in a circle. She felt like a normal teenage girl again.
As if she wasn't dressing up like this to save her life. As if she wasn't going to be forced into an arena to fight against twenty-three other children to be the last one standing. She was fully aware of what the future held for her, but she chose to ignore that. In that moment, as she danced around her District's quarters, she felt normal and she wanted it to stay that way.
Avena's normal was spending time with her parents in the fields of District Nine, occasionally helping out during the harvest season. Then, they would walk back to their house, joking about how without District Nine, Panem would be bread-less, and how horrible that would be. Her normal was scavenging the alleyways of District Nine for spare change to spend at the local bakery. They would purchase the smallest pastry there and split it, savoring each nibble.
That was Avena's normal – until the Hunger Games came and ruined it, that is.
The Hunger Games were always a possibility for Avena, but she never thought it would be her. That her name would be called at the reaping. She was only fourteen and her family never had to sign up for any tesserae. Her family was not as poor as most of District Nine, so she believed she could get by, unscathed by the Hunger Games. Once again, it was wishful thinking.
"Remember, Avena and Aedan," Freya said, clasping both of their hands in her own. "Smile. Wave. Make sure they remember you."
They will, Avena reassured herself. Avena would be remembered one way or another – dead or alive. If she won, she'd go down in history as one of the youngest victors in all of Panem, and if she did die in the arena, her family and friends would remember her. Whether or not sponsors were attracted to them, if the Capitol and the Gamemakers saw them as plausible victors, wasn't why Avena wanted Panem to remember her. She wanted to be remembered as the Avena that her friends and family loved. The same adorable, playful, and whimsical girl she was in District Nine.
"Are you excited, Aedan?" Avena asked, standing with her head held high at the elevator doors. It was clear from her physical stance that she was enthusiastic and she hoped Aedan was too. "I think they'll love us."
"I think so too," he replied, standing beside her, holding her hand. The elevator doors opened in front of them, and they stepped into it, followed by their team of stylists. The elevator was crowded, and as they stood at the front of everyone, Aedan leaned into Avena. "For District Nine, right?"
"For District Nine," she whispered. She felt confident – not that she would win, or anywhere near that, but she felt confident that she and Aedan would do as best as they could in the arena. Together.
They would make District Nine proud.
They would be remembered.
Kit Kaur
District Five, 16 Years Old
The Meet-and-Greet
The tributes were lined up according to their Districts, starting with Cleo from District One at the front of the line and ending with Beau from District Twelve at the back of the line. Kit stood among the other tributes, playing with the frills on the edge of her dress, mouthing to herself what she'll say to Decima and Cyrus.
Kit's mentors told her to prepare an elevator speech to pitch herself to Panem, so she did; she was Kit Kaur from District Five. She came from the traditional nuclear family in District Five, with a mother and a father, who were both engineers that worked at a power plant. She was at the top of her class in school and spent her free-time sitting at a computer, typing away. She loved numbers. Kit was quirky, and she knew how to use that to her advantage.
"What's your pitch, Gunnar?" Kit asked, looking over her shoulder at her District partner. "You should tell them your mother is a baker. The Capitol loves bread."
"I think they want to know something more interesting than that," Gunnar said, shrugging. "I'm going to talk about my training score. Maybe what training stations I liked the most."
"Ethan and Delron said to make it personal," Kit replied, briefly turning around to poke Gunnar in the chest. "They want to know who you are."
The line startled to shuffle forward, and as soon as the Peacekeepers opened the doors at the front of the line, Kit could hear the screams and claps coming from the outside. Kit and Gunnar stepped onto the rep carpet, immediately blinded by the flashing brights lights and confronted with the Capitol fanfare. Capitol citizens dressed in their bright colors and intricate accessories clawed at the velvet rope barriers, holding their hands high in the air to get their attention.
Kit couldn't believe her eyes. She watched the meet-and-greet on the television during past Hunger Games, but now that she was a tribute, now that she was walking on the red carpet with the hosts of the event, Decima and Cyrus, and their camera crew, it was surreal. She nearly forgot everything she prepared to say about herself.
In the crowd of Capitol citizens, she spotted her face on a t-shirt, staring back at her, smiling. They were holding a poster of Gunnar's face and she looked around, trying to find him among the other tributes. Kit started to expect this type of outlandish behavior from the Capitol, and she hoped she would have the chance to return to District Five to tell her family about all of the odd things she experienced.
"Miss Kaur! Miss Kaur!" Kit perked up at the sound of one voice in particular that was more high-pitched than the others. She hesitantly walked towards the velvet rope separating the tributes from the Capitol, unsure of how close she was allowed to get to them. Kit approached the barrier, standing only a few feet away from the lady with Kit's face plastered on a t-shirt and Gunnar's face pressed onto a poster.
"Kit!" the voice shouted again. "Over here!"
"Kit, we love you!"
"I love… I love you too," Kit stammered. "Hello, everyone. I am Kit Kaur and–"
"Kit!" The screaming interrupted her. "You received a training score of five. How did that make you feel?"
"Uh," Kit uttered. She could be honest and tell them it made her feel average, but she knew that she had to make an impression. Do they want funny? Confident? Intimidating? "It's not a twelve, that's for sure!"
The Capitol citizens hanging at the barrier erupted into a fit of laughter. Kit didn't think her response was funny, but it didn't matter what Kit thought. As she stood there, smiling at her fans from the Capitol, she needed to entertain them. They were the ones with money, the ones who could send her gifts in the arena.
"What are your allies like, Kit?" another citizen asked, reaching over the barrier, shoving their hand in Kit's face.
"Everett and Gunnar are great allies. They're reliable and smart," Kit replied, leaning forward as the citizen snapped a photo of her on their camera. "Not as smart as me, of course!"
The Capitol citizens in front of her tossed their heads as they laughed. Kit's nerves dissipated as she watched their reactions, feeling much more at ease. She straightened her back, taking another step forward, and continued asking questions. She noticed Gunnar making his way towards Kit, shaking the hands of Capitol citizens at the barriers, not as chatty as Kit, and felt inclined to help him for her own sake.
"And here's the man of the hour," Kit said, grabbing Gunnar's hand and pulling him in close to her. "I was just telling them about how smart you are, Gunnar!"
Kit stood there with her ally, entertaining the Capitol citizens, and she saw Everett in the distance making his own group of citizens wheeze with laughter. The overwhelmingly positive response they were getting made her feel confident, and the feeling grew stronger as she watched Gunnar take the lead and answer the next round of questions – what was the training center like, what is his favorite food from the Capitol – and he even cracked a joke.
We can really do this.
As a team.
Ciana Mavaro
District Seven, 15 Years Old
The Meet-and-Greet
Ciana lurked behind Orion.
He was clearly a fan favorite and the Capitol citizens essentially jumped over one another to get to the front of the line. Orion stood at the velvet rope, grabbing the hands that were wagging in front of his face. He clasped the hand of one of the older ladies, planting a kiss on the back of her hand, and she squealed, pulling her hand back and holding it against her chest.
Ciana hadn't seen this side of Orion before – he seemed to be enjoying the attention, or at least, he was doing a decent job at pretending he was. He was a charming, extroverted boy, and it was working in his favor. Their mentors told them how important the meet-and-greet was, how this was their last chance to attract sponsors, to make themselves stand out among the other tributes. Ciana, on the other hand, wasn't as ecstatic about the event.
"Come on over here, Ciana!" Orion said, turning towards her and extending his hand. She grabbed it, stepping forward, and was struck by the flash of cameras. "They're asking about you!"
The Capitol citizens were technically asking about Ciana, but it was the same exact questions she heard since she stepped foot in the Capitol. They didn't want to know anything else besides why she chose to be here. Why the young girl from District Seven volunteered for a death match. She started to ask herself the same questions, too.
"Ciana! Ciana!"
"Why did you volunteer, Ciana?"
"Ciana!"
"It's the girl from District Seven! The volunteer!"
Ciana scowled at the crowd. She was silent, staring forward. She was not going to acknowledge the question anymore. She wanted to forget why she volunteered. She wanted to move forward, but the Capitol wasn't letting her do that. They were resurfacing the exact issues – the feelings of abandonment, of feeling invisible – she was trying to distance herself from.
People were finally noticing her, but as the volunteer from District Seven.
She wanted to be seen as something else. As just Ciana. Why wasn't that good enough? For the Capitol? For her family?
She wanted to be the new Ciana. Sure, she was the girl who volunteered, but she was more than that. She wanted that Ciana to be seen on national television, standing there with her ally, Orion – who she dared to call a friend because she felt appreciated by him. She felt seen.
"Ciana!"
Then, Ciana perked up, and realized that this was her chance to be seen as something different. She would no longer be the melancholic, invisible girl from District Seven. She would no longer be the enigmatic volunteer from District Seven. She would be herself and she would be seen. She wasn't enamored of the Capitol – it was big and shiny, the people were too eccentric for her – but they were the only ones who wanted to get to know Ciana, unlike her family. She was finally receiving the attention she so desperately craved.
"I am Ciana," she said to no one in particular, but the Capitol didn't care. She was finally speaking and that made them clap even louder. "Nice to meet you all."
"She speaks!" Orion said, pulling her closer to him. "They asked what's the first thing you would do as a victor."
"Well, I would set aside money for my eleven siblings," she replied, and several of the citizens gasped. "Yes, before you ask, I have eleven siblings!"
"Eleven children?! Is that normal in District Seven?"
Ciana was slightly offended, and she wanted to ask if the bizarre body augmentations and the wacky colored face makeup was normal in the Capitol, but she swallowed her words and nodded. "More children means more hands in the forests, and more hands means more money."
"Wow," the man replied. "And what are the forests like?"
Green? Some bugs and birds here and there? Ciana wasn't sure what the man expected in response.
"They're serene," Ciana replied, smiling. "And never ending. You could walk for days and have no clue where you are."
"I'd love to visit one day," the man whispered, and Orion shot Ciana a look. He could hear the snide comment in her head – No thank you. You've already done enough harm to my home. "Can I visit when you're the victor?"
"Of course," Ciana replied, throwing her hands out towards the crowd. "All of you can! Dinner at my house!"
The Capitol seemed to love that, and she glanced at Orion again, who had a wide smirk on his face. He was enjoying her charade as much as the Capitol was. The meet-and-greet was an important aspect of the Hunger Games, and although she would have preferred to lock herself in her bedroom in District Seven's quarters, she saw this as an opportunity to show off both herself and Orion.
The new Ciana would joke, smile, and laugh with the Capitol. The new Ciana would know her self-worth and wouldn't let anyone make her feel invisible. The new Ciana would trust that Orion has good intentions and won't betray her, not like everyone in District Seven. The new Ciana would be different from the girl who volunteered.
The new Ciana could be a victor of the Hunger Games.
Drachma Veitch
District One, 18 Years Old
The Meet-and-Greet
"One at a time!" Cleo giggled, balancing being bombarded with questions and signing her autograph on printed out copies of her tribute photo. "One at a time!"
At one point, he would've basked in the attention like her, but that's not who he was anymore. He wasn't… Cleo. The vapid, self-obsessed, spoiled brat who gave District One a bad reputation. Drachma was actively working against the stereotypical image of a District One volunteer, while Cleo was regressing it. But, that wasn't why Drachma had such a strong aversion to his District partner – there was more to it.
Cleo and Nereida were standing on their own, engaging with their own starstruck fans, but Georgia swooped in, wrapping her arms around their waists and pulling them towards her. She tugged at their arms and held their hands, and Decima and Cyrus swarmed to them, followed by hoards of paparazzi. The cameras flashed, taking endless pictures of the Career girls, and the fans clawed at each other to get to the front of the line to ask questions, the cheers getting louder and louder with each response.
"What has your alliance been like?" Cyrus asked.
"These girls are like my sisters," Cleo replied, eying Georgia. "I am so lucky to have found the perfect allies. They're so strong!"
"And we are stronger together!" Georgia echoed, forcing a smile onto her face against her will. The fans fawned at their apparent loyalty to one another, but Drachma wanted to gag. He knew how they all really felt about one another. They were evidently celebrities in the Capitol, and although Drachma was a tad jealous, he was content. He had his own steady stream of cameras and questions.
"What do you think, Nereida?" Cyrus asked, shoving his microphone in Nereida's face.
"We're a force to be reckoned with," Nereida replied, and Drachma scoffed. How cliche. "All of the Careers are."
Aw, how sweet of her. She gave me a shout out.
Drachma had a soft spot for Nereida; she was much more soft-spoken, more level-headed, than the rest, but she was too much of a pushover for him. Cleo was grating, but at least she spoke her mind, and Georgia was entertaining, albeit too reckless. She was basically asking to be stabbed in the back; he figured she would get herself killed sooner rather than later, and out of them all, he perceived her as the strongest in the group, and now that Renour was out, that left him and Caspian as the only boys. Caspian was probably too busy feeling up an Avox to have any clue what was going on, so that left Drachma to fend for himself. So, he chose Georgia.
"I hate to dampen the mood!" Cyrus said, looking over his shoulder at the cameras. The theatrics. "But, there will only be one winner. Who will it be?"
Georgia's hand slowly crept up Cleo's back, and she wrapped her fingers around her braid, yanking it. Cleo winced, gritting her teeth, and jabbed her elbow into Georgia's side.
The three girls looked at each other and in unison said, "Me."
Drachma scoffed and rolled his eyes as their synchronous response sent the two hosts and the paparazzi into a frenzy. He went back to engaging with his own fans as the girls voices were drowned out by piercing screams.
"What is your response to that, Drachma? The girls think they'll be the victor. What do you think?"
"Well," Drachma replied casually. Their response didn't faze him at all. "We all want to be the sole victor, but not everyone has what it takes. The grit, the verve. The skill."
"Do you have all that?"
"I'd like to think so," Drachma replied. "I wouldn't have volunteered if I didn't think I was capable of winning. It'd be a death sentence otherwise."
"Do the girls not have what it takes, then?"
"It's not for me to say," Dracha said, glancing at Cleo, Georgia, and Nereida, who were slowly walking away, putting a significant amount of distance between each other. "We'll find out soon enough, won't we?"
Drachma waved goodbye to that set of Capitol citizens, looking for another part of the red carpet to visit. On the far end, Caspian stood there in front of a large group of women. The Peacekeepers were watching him carefully, and Dracha inferred it was because Caspian was getting a little too handsy with them. Drachma walked over, catching the tail-end of whatever bullshit Caspian was spewing.
"What can I say?" Caspian said, the women in front of him squealing and leaning over the barrier. "That's just my natural charm!"
Caspian noticed Drachma coming his way. "Speaking of natural charm!"
Natural charm. As if.
"I was just telling them about you, Drachma," Caspian said, throwing his arm over Drachma's shoulders, pulling a few pieces of his hair. Drachma swatted his hand away and patted his hair down, not wanting to mess up all of the time his stylist wasted on his hair. "They asked if this was your natural hair color."
"Yes?" Drachma said, half-question, half-statement. "Do you not have blondes in the Capitol?"
"Of course we do," one woman replied. "It's never natural, though. Not like you District One purebreds."
Whatever that means. "Enough about my hair. Let's talk about this guy!"
Drachma wrapped his hand around Caspian's arm, squeezing his muscles. The two of them chuckled, and the ladies fawned, nearly fainting as they fell on each other. Drachma hated the way he felt like he had to act in the Capitol, but he knew it was necessary. He had to play the part for sponsors. For his allies. For District One. If he wanted to win, if he wanted to return to District One, he had to play the part. It didn't matter who Drachma was on the inside; all that mattered was who Drachma was on the outside.
And, luckily for the Capitol, Drachma was good at pretending.
Alden Kellett
District Eight, 15 Years Old
Night of the Meet-and-Greet
Alden was not happy, and frankly, his District partner and their mentors now expected this type of bratty and entitled behavior from the young boy from District Eight. He sat back on the couch, arms crossed over his chest, pouting.
"Get me water!" Alden shouted at the Avox. "Now!"
The Avox hands shook as he hurriedly poured him a glass of water, the liquid spilling out of the carafe, dripping onto the floor. Alden rolled his eyes at his incompetence, and when the Avox handed him the glass of water, he took a sip of it, and immediately spit it out.
"It's too warm! Get me ice!"
The Avox rushed to get him ice from the refrigerator, spilling more water out of the carafe as he rushed back to him. He held out the glass in front of him and the Avox dropped the ice cubes into the glass, water splashing out, all over Alden's slippers.
"Clean up this mess!" Alden demanded.
"Why are you so thirsty?" Senna, one of their mentors, asked. Alden was surprised that she finally addressed him directly; as soon as they stepped foot on the train, Senna focused all of her attention on Denali, and even then, the day before the Games began, Senna continued to ignore Alden unless it was to ridicule him, apparently. "You didn't do much talking."
"There was nothing to say!" Alden exclaimed. "Everyone else had an ally to be with, and I had no one!"
"That's your fault," she retorted.
"I did nothing wrong," Alden replied, expressing a mixture of frustration and desperation. He wanted allies, but there was no one he wanted to ally with. He wanted to go home, that's it; he didn't want to feign interest in getting to know anyone. "It's not my fault that there's no one!"
"What about the girls from Six or Seven? What about Three?" Leander, their other mentor, suggested, aware that his attempts were futile; nothing would change Alden's unwavering stubbornness.
"No!" Alden threw his head back into the cushion of the couch, exacerbated. "There's no one!"
"You need to lower your expectations," Senna sneered, and Alden glared at her.
"Father would not be pleased with the way you're speaking to me."
"Do you hear yourself?" she asked, baffled. "You've spent your whole time in the Capitol whining."
Alden was left speechless; he had never been spoken to in such a manner. If only his father were there; he would've taken care of it.
"Blah, blah, blah," she said, mimicking talking with her hands. "You had options, but you chose not to talk to anyone. It's your fault that you're going into the arena alone tomorrow."
Alden shook his head. It was not his fault.
Leander stared at Alden, wanting to tell Senna to calm down, but he agreed with what she was saying. On the train rides, the two mentors implored Alden and Denali to find allies, whether that meant coupling up or finding allies from a different District. Denali listened and allied with Beau from District Twelve and Renour from District Two. Alden chose to sulk at training, to whine incessantly.
It wasn't his fault that everyone else was not up to his standards.
"That's enough, Senna," Leander said, pointing his finger at her. "Maybe it's time to go to bed. Big day tomorrow."
"Goodnight to you both," Senna said curtly. She walked over towards Denali and leaned into her, grabbing her arm. "Let's go outside."
Senna led Denali outside, forcefully shutting the sliding glass doors behind her. Leander got up from the table, opening his mouth to say something else to Alden, but instead, he went to his bedroom and closed the door behind him. Alden took a sip of water and stood there, all alone, watching Senna and Denali talk among themselves outside, and he felt excluded. In District Eight, Alden and his friends were the ones who used to do the excluding. He sincerely missed his friends and the shenanigans they would find themselves in – it was never anything extreme, simply pulling a prank on their teacher or daring one another to ask a female classmate out on a date.
"I'm hungry," he mumbled, and the Avox ran to the kitchen, raiding the cabinets for Alden's favorite snacks. Typically, he'd go for something sweet, but he was in the mood for something salty. When the Avox presented with him a plate of berries and chocolate, he had a conniption. "No!"
The Avox bowed their head. Alden missed his maid in District Eight; she wouldn't keep messing up like the Avox was.
"Can't you do anything right? I want soup!" Alden shouted, stomping his foot on the ground. "Get me soup!"
Soup was the least of Alden's worries, but he couldn't process anything else. The Hunger Games. Dying. Killing. None of that were his main concerns, even though they should have been. He wanted soup. He wanted to see his father.
He wanted to go home.
Author's Note:
So… the meet-and-greet. This replaces the interviews and is a more interactive, face-to-face way for the Capitol to learn more about the tributes. Cyrus and Decima from Behind the Seams are back, along with their camera crew, to interview the tributes, but also the tributes get to meet some of their fans in the Capitol. Think red carpet event.
Has your opinion changed on any of these tributes?
Next up… LAUNCH.
I'm NOT trying to gas myself up but I want to share what I'm thinking about this story; I was a bit worried about getting back in SYOTs, and writing in general since it has been quite some time since I sat down and wrote anything, but I'm really happy with how this story is going so far. Honestly, I enjoyed all of my previous SYOTs, but I have been so EXCITED to write every chapter and plan things for this one in particular. Idk y'all… I hope you're enjoying it too!