Dreamers Live to Die Chapter 1
I did the cowardly thing and tried to avoid the future as much as possible, even with all the devastatingly powerful information behind my lips. But alas, fate found its way to bite me in the ass. [SI-OC Gale's twin sister]
Published 2019.12.30
"Blaire Hawthorne!" Rang out Effie Trinket's shrill voice.
All the girls in the thirteens section immediately made space for an exit path to the middle line to the stadium.
No.
No. No! Against my will, my feet moved steadily past the crowds, past Gale (I couldn't look at his face), past the front row sections, and onto the rise of the stadium stage. Noise distorted in my ears, the skies shone unnaturally blue, and Effie's strong perfume made me want to vomit all over her perfect little dress and perfect little shoes.
The noise of crying woke me out of my stupor. While Effie announced the boy's name - Yonner Bayaurch, emerging from the eighteens section - little Posy was screaming her head off in the background. She didn't understand what was going on other than that it was bad and mom was leaking a steady stream of tears and little Rory and Vick all the way back there were paler than snow and Gale... I shifted my glance to my brother, and his eyes were wider than saucers.
Yonner forced me to break the heart breaking eye contact when he offered his hand for the customary handshake. His hands were roughly calloused from work in the coal mines, as he was old enough to have started work down below. The main mines had been closed down after the huge explosion two years ago, but there were smaller mines scattered in the north that people were allowed to work in. Those mines, however, were of even worse conditions than the main ones. Therefore Yonner had to have contracted some sort of medical condition from working in there, or was just unnaturally strong. He had coppery red hair and green eyes, which were rare colors for District Twelve. His stocky build spoke of great strength, as did his handshake grip.
"Excellent!" Effie cheered, clasping her hands together. "This concludes the reaping ceremony! My, what a lovely day! Happy Hunger Games, and may the odds be ever in your favor."
A row of Peacekeepers escorted the capitol woman, us two tributes, and an unusually silent Haymitch, who was trailing along the back of the pack. Most years, he blurted out something stupid and collapsed onstage in a drunken stupor.
It was possibly the scariest few minutes of my life while locked alone in a guarded room for the farewell period inside the Justice Building. The fact that my name had been drawn amidst the hundreds of names in the box made me terrified that perhaps Rory or Vick or even Gale would have to face the shift of events that my presence brought. Maybe the future events never mentioned Gale having a twin sister because she had died in one of the games.
The door sprung open after what felt like an eternity, welcoming the familiar tear tracked faces of my family.
"Oh, Blaire," mom cried, hugging me tight to her bosom. "I'm so, so sorry."
Posy was wrapped on her back, fast asleep after wearing herself out from her mini tantrum back during the ceremony. It was for the better, though. Posy's uncontrollable crying would have me bursting into tears, and I didn't want the Capitol to see any shred of weakness from me when I didn't want them to.
She unwrapped her shaking arms for Vick and Rory's turns for hugs. They let the tears fall freely this time.
"You lied," Vick choked. "You big, fat liar."
"You said that you wouldn't get picked last night. Remember?" Rory added, rubbing his eyes furiously.
While they occupied my arms, Gale hugged over them, stuffing my face into his chest. "By the time I get back, you'll be like ten feet tall," I tried joking, but the line came flat.
"I don't care what you do, but you just need to come back. Alright?" He demanded, voice cracking with emotion.
At any other time, I would've teased his voice crack, but the time was too serious. The sixty-ninth games didn't have anybody recognizable, but everyone was a danger.
"I'm not gonna die," I swore, looking him straight in the eye. He startled a bit at my tone. "I'm gonna come back home, no matter how deranged I'll become in the arena. We've got Hawthorne blood, right?"
At that moment, I looked straight at mom, who burst into another round of tear. "Just like your father..."
"Use whatever you've got up your sleeve," Gale struggled to say. "I don't care if you come back with blood on your hands - you just need to come back at all."
I nodded. "It's going to be okay, Gale."
It was so not okay. A pit of dread grew and dredged up anxiety and nerves until I was sure the room just started spinning.
The door burst open. "Time's up!" A Peacekeeper announced, a few more entering the room to rip off the twins' clawing grasps. Posy woke up and began screaming as they were ripped away from me. The heavy door thudded close with finality.
A curious object pressed against my leg, and I looked down to see a small lump in my pocket. Taking it out, it was revealed to be one of my little knick knacks: a wooden carving of an elephant the size of an eraser. Gale must have slipped it into my pocket during our brief farewell for my district token. A thoughtful last gift, as I hadn't expected to prepare a token in the first place. Really, who did?
Gale had once asked what the hell this carving was when I first presented it to our ever growing collection on our shelves back home. Elephants didn't exist in Panem - or at all, anymore - so he thought I had made a new magical creature, like the hippo or the penguin figurines decorating the kitchen.
The second time slot for visitors was occupied by a familiar elderly woman emerging into the room.
I quickly rose up. "Miss Milligan."
She strode over the long meeting room floor and wrapped her thin arms around my shoulders. "Oh, dear. I was looking forward to you taking my position."
That was it. No, "good luck" or "have a nice trip to the afterlife."
"What makes you think I won't come back?" I challenged out of spite.
She tutted and leaned back to fix my messy hair out of my eyes. "Dearie Blaire. I have full confidence that you're intelligent enough to survive the games, but I don't think you'd want to become a teacher anymore once you come back."
I offered her a wane smile. "We'll see."
She pecked my cheek, saying that she'll bid my goodbyes to our class for me, then left.
The third and last visitors, unexpectedly, were the Everdeens. Prim held Katniss' hands warily before approaching me. Their mother, unfortunately, was still suffering from mental problems from the trauma of losing her husband. Mrs. Everdeen's face was blanker than an empty sheet of paper, not a speck of the situation reaching into her mind.
"You were the best teacher I've ever had. Better than Miss Milligan," Prim murmured shyly. Katniss nodded awkwardly, standing back with her mother. "Please come back to become a real teacher this time."
I ruffled her autumn blonde hair, smiling at her affronted look for messing up her perfectly braided hair. "Of course, Prim," I lied. "Don't you worry. I'll even buy everyone at school new pencils and desks and all sorts of colorful playground chalk once I win the games."
She didn't smile at that, but Katniss nodded her head in a jerky thanks, then pushed her family out. It must suck to be the only one responsible for your family, I mused. Gale, mom, and I were the three providers for us Hawthornes, but Katniss had to be her family's sole provider. She was also smart enough to not buy in tesserae, severely limiting her chance to provide enough oil for her household.
I sat there in the lonely meeting room for what seemed like hours, investigating the mahogany furniture and the tiny silver cameras dotting the walls until Effie burst into the room with Yonner in tow.
"Lovely! You're all ready now," she said, ushering me out to greet another squadron of Peacekeepers. "We'll be heading to the cars now, where you'll be taking the train ride to the Capitol!"
A dim sort of amusement flooded my face. "A train?" I extended to Effie, allowing her the opportunity to speak more. It was out of my own best interest for the people in charge of me to invest their energy into keeping me alive as best as possible in the arena, and one way to do that was get Effie, my set crew, and Haymitch to like me. The old drunkard would be a challenge, but he seemed to admire strong and smart tributes; kids that had a chance of making it out alive.
"Oh, it's an absolutely marvelous piece of technology! You two are in for a treat," she recited, leading the way to behind the building, where a fancy black car lay in wait, protected by trucks of Peacekeepers. "Chrystal chandeliers, platinum doorknobs... and the train rides so smoothly it's like flying! We'll arrive at the capital at a rate of two hundred miles per hour."
Riding a car for the first time since my rebirth felt all too much like deja vu, except this time I actually knew what the memories behind the bumpy gravel filled ride had been about. The district twelve escort sat between Yonner and I, acting as a barrier. This was a smart move on her part, as I was almost certain the boy was preparing himself to murder me in cold blood by the way he glared into my soul.
"Chrystal chandeliers?" I inquired, forcing myself to entertain Effie's vibrant self. She wasn't really an annoying person, per se, and I knew she wasn't really a bad woman behind all her outgoing Capitol makeup, but the somberness of the day really didn't make me want to talk to her. She was simply too happy to be tolerable at the moment. "Are there any rainbow colored chandeliers?"
"Oh my! Of course there are, Miss Hawthorne. Can I call you Blaire? Yes? Alright. Of course there are rainbow chandeliers. There's rainbow everything in the Capitol. For example, there's a store on the Famous Blue street off the city center where..."
I droned her out politely, smiling and nodding while contemplating how to get Haymitch's favor. He had been enamored by Katniss and her brave stupidity and skill with a bow. Me? I could hardly glare for the life of me, was only moderately skilled in offensive knife work, and really only held any skill in passive hunting traits, like tracking, hiding, climbing, foraging, and making elaborately knotted traps. Well. When listed out, it sounded pretty good, but the usefulness of my skills all depended on the format of the arena. If it followed the style of a deciduous forest range, great. Problem solved. If it was anything other than a forest or mountain range, I'd be toast. My age wasn't the prime type for sponsors and my type of mean wit wasn't built to be catered towards Capitol citizens.
As a developing thirteen year old, no one in their right mind would want to sponsor me based on any kind of beauty or sexiness (unless they were pedophiles). I did find myself to be considerably attractive, with a cute nose and cheeks splashed with just enough freckles and thickly lashed light grey eyes that suited my round face especially well (hey, I could be arrogant about my looks, right?), but no thirteen year old could seduce a large enough crowd. My best option was to be an underdog. Everybody liked an underdog. Pleasant surprises and all that.
The fact that the youngest tribute to ever win the games had been a fourteen year old Finnick Odair did not help my self confidence in the slightest.
Haymitch hated his life because he was forced to bond with two children before seeing them inevitably sent to their deaths, right? All I had to do was convince him I had the slim chance of winning over the larger and stronger framed Yonner, to make him pull in enough sponsors to at least provide enough support in the arena.
Or I could pull a Johanna. But no, I didn't want to be known as unhinged in the end. The Capitol would eat it up and it wasn't like I was planning on keeping my morality intact out on the field, but being likeable sounded easier than acting out weirdly timid personas.
Crowds parted in the dirt packed streets out of respect. Familiar faces of neighbors, classmates, and Hob vendors zoomed by as the car picked up more speed away from the only town I had really known in Panem.
"Where's our mentor?" Grumbled out Yonnor, interrupting Effie's extended speech on rainbow products.
"Oh, he's, well. He's a bit of a drinker, so they already brought him to the train to rest in private quarters," our escort informed uneasily.
Yonnor scowled. "So he's useless, then. We're just going to die out there like everyone else, since we've got the shittiest drunkard of a mentor out of all twelve districts."
I wanted to tell him to stop talking, but he kept on ranting about the terrible fate of his circumstances until the Peacekeepers in the front of the car turned their seats back to point a gun at his head.
"This is a warning," growled the Peacekeeper. "Don't speak ill of your situation. It is an honor by the Capitol to be chosen for the games."
Yonnor wisely held his tongue this time.
The next half hour to the train station was devoid of conversation. The racing view of the tall cedars and pines I had grown up next to remained a dying comfort as the car and Peacekeeper trucks pulled into a small station leading to a long metal snake of a train. The dividers between compartments were barely visible with thin black lines of space, and the sleekness of the metal made the sight practically blinding against the sun's reflection.
"Amazing," I commented hollowly to Effie, who bounced back to her usual vibrant self.
"Of course, of course. Inside, there are refreshments - I hope you don't eat like savages like the usual district twelve crowd - that you can help yourselves to. I'll make Haymitch get out of his private quarters to welcome you two." She bounded into the train before us, her sapphire blue curls bouncing behind her. Because I didn't feel safe around Yonner, I made him head in first to watch my own back, an action that he grumbled something about having proper manners.
The door slid shut as soon as we were all gathered on, and a tell tale rumble signaled lift off. Still, the ride remained remarkably smooth. We walked towards an open door leading into an extravagant lounge room.
"Holy shit," Yonnor gasped, taking in the sights. I had to agree with him, finally realizing that the richness of the Capitol hadn't been exaggerated. In fact, it may have been under-explained, as shown by the decadent setting before us. Glimmering glass bowls displayed portions of pastries, jellies, jams, over a dozen types of breads, crisp and still wet fruit, platters of cheese, cured meats, and more. Off to the side was a table of alcoholic drinks set in large colorful prismatic bottles in a manner of funny geometric designs. The age of consent and alcohol and other legal adult activities in Panem was sixteen, so only Yonnor would be able to take anything from the section (legally, that is). Haymitch probably had his own private bar in his room.
Since there was no point in refusing to eat out of spite or hatred of the governmental regimes, Yonnor and I came to a wordless agreement that this lounge area was a truce area to enjoy the delicacies.
He piled nearly a little bit of everything on several plates before sitting down on a mahogany seat by a window, but I just opted for one plate of grapes and cheeses. Dairy products weren't imported to or from district twelve, and it had been a while since I had tasted the sharp bitterness of my classic favorites gouda and mozzarella.
A door opened ahead, revealing a haggard Effie dragging a stumbling Haymitch.
"Hey, lay off me," the man snapped, staggering into a table. "I can handle myself."
The escort threw her hands in the air, fuming. "I've got to talk to the drivers. But don't think I won't force you to talk to your tributes!"
After she left, Haymitch groaned and walked with an awkward gait to the chair in front of me. Yonnor moved himself to his diagonal seat, obviously wanting to hear what our mentor had to offer.
"Look, guys, I'm just here for the refreshments. So go off an enjoy yourselves before your inevitable fate met and the end of a knife," he slurred, grabbing a sloppy hand to the inside of his vest pocket, where a silver whiskey vial had been hiding. He took a long swig and burped.
"You - !" Yonnor stood up, fists clenched white. "You're supposed to help us, sponsor us! What kind of mentor are you?!"
The alcoholic giggled. "I told you, I'm just here for the refreshments. Want something to drink? The orange bottle o'er there's usually the best," he slurred even heavier, swaying from side to side before flat out passing out onto the floor.
Great. Just great.
Yonnor stormed back off to his corner to stare glumly at his food. Haymitch, despite imbibing copious amounts of alcohol everyday, was still a rather skinny man. Resolute in the belief that winning Haymitch's favors was the best way to win the games, I took the man's ankles and literally dragged the man away. My tribute mate may have sent me weird looks, but really, what was the harm in that? He was already prepared to take me out at a moment's notice in the arena, so it wasn't like I should even try getting a comfortable relationship with him. Our mentor, however, was the only one capable of actually helping me once in the arena, so it was best to help him.
All the private quarters were labelled, so it wasn't too hard to drag the man into his room down the main hallway. Because I didn't have the upper body strength to lift a full grown one hundred fifty to one hundred sixty pound man with my barely teenaged arms, he stayed on the fluffy carpeted ground, snoring away the day.
A flash of metal caught my eye. A silver knife the size of my forearm lay half-way hidden underneath an askew pillow on his silken bed covers. Even though it may have been rude to wander around his private quarters without his express permission, I couldn't help but reach for the knife an slight wonder. It had intricate gold carvings in the bladed edges, all trailing down to an ivory and jade handle. This knife appeared too flashy for Haymitch to own.
"It's pretty, ain't it?"
Immediately reacting out of shock, I expertly spun the perfectly balanced knife in my nimble fingers while whirling around, definitely prepared to stab the voice that made me startle.
Haymitch, still on the ground, jerked his arms up defensively. "Whoa. Easy there, tiger. I like your reflexes, but don't aim 'em at me."
This was the perfect time for a knife trick to impress him. I flipped the knife up, letting it just barely graze the ceiling, before catching it back in my hand without looking. It took years of nasty cuts and a particularly vicious squirrel (long story, don't ask) to pull that off, but it did make our mentor raise his eyebrows.
"Like that fire in you. Maybe you'll make it longer than the other tributes I usually get stuck with," he grumbled, lifting himself off the ground in an unsteady sway.
I threw the knife into the wall, noticing the small crack forming in the plaster. This was all for show, of course, as I really actually had terrible aim with anything long distance to save my life. But Haymitch didn't need to know that I hadn't meant for that knife to head in that direction... I just needed him to start paying attention to me.
"I can track, forage, climb trees and any rock surface, and tie knots and traps. While I realize that my strengths rely in passive abilities, you can help me choose which area to hone better in preparation of the games."
An unnamed emotion flickered in his eyes. "What about that knife just now?" He swaggered backwards, against the wall. "Can you - can you do impressive tricks with knives, better than the one just now?"
No.
"Depends on your idea of 'impressive,'" I instead smirked, propping a hand on my hip.
He barked out a laugh. "Hah! I can use some o' your arrogance. Bother me tomorrow. I need to sleep off all this drinking."
He tone was more resolute and sober than before, so I graciously ducked out his room to find my own private quarters.
Once there, I changed out of my faded pink dress, itchy white socks, and plain brown leather shoes for soft silk slippers and body hugging yet comfortable nylon sleeveless shirt and pants, all in varying shades of olive green. A high quality hologram set rested on the cream colored walls, so I flipped it on out of curiosity, only to be met with sudden bouts of gore.
So, they played the previous Hunger Games on the train to the Capitol. Typical.
Needless to say, I turned it off and tried taking a nap.
By the time I had woken up, the clothes strewn on the ground had been taken away, possibly forever, and my small wooden elephant laid on the bedstand. Perhaps avoxes had entered the room when I was unaware. The idea of people coming and going in a room where I rested was bothersome for reasons not needed to be explained.
The idea of heading into an arena designed to kill off innocent children sickened me to my core, but I didn't know what worried me more: the idea of trying to survive no matter the cost, or the loss of my sanity for being forced to play an immoral game.
I decided on both and called it a day.
Haymitch and Effie were sitting in the main lounge area, where the treats from before now turned into a much larger, heavier styled feast with large cuts of pork, bowls of potato products that smelled a little off, glasses of strange creams and spreads, and much more. I elected on choosing a meat heavy dinner and sat right in front of the two adults.
"Ah, at least she can use her manners, Haymitch!" Effie scolded, swatting Haymitch's hands before he could reach for the steak bits with his bare hands. "Try to set a proper example for your district!"
"It's alright, Effie," I soothed. "Let the man enjoy his last days in the relative quiet of the train. Don't alcoholics hate loud noises like cities?"
He cheered to that statement, propping a shoe-free foot on the low set coffee table between us. "Preach. Thanks, sweetie."
"Oh? So you're actually talking to the tributes, now?" Effie sniffed pointedly.
"Don't worry," I assured sarcastically. "He was drunk the entire time, no weird new changes."
Haymitch shouted. "Ha hah! I like this girlie. She's got spunk!"
So, being generally antagonizing to him but in the funniest way possible? Sure, I could deal with that. "I'd hope so, as I'm prepared to do anything, absolutely anything, to return to my family alive."
He belched, waving his glass over the table. "Even at the cost of your humanity?"
My voice darkened. I needed to sell this act as much as possible. "Anything."
His eyes glazed over and that was when the final obstacle had been secured. Effie clasped her hands together and squealed in delight when Haymitch propped his glass down and relaxed back into his cushioned chair.
"We can't make you desirable because of your age, and you can't pull the intelligence act because of your age, and it's not like you have strength or skill for weaponry in spades to win over the audience," he said, mulling everything over.
"An underdog," Effie suggested. "Everyone loves an underdog!"
Except for President Snow, who hated underdogs. Or maybe he just hated everything period. It was hard to tell, really.
Haymitch snapped his fingers. "Yes, an underdog. But we need a secondary trait. You can't only rely on being an underdog character, as you're too snarky to be the typical little guy."
"My resounding wit?" I dragged on, drumming my fingers together.
He shook his head. "No, too young to be a classic comedian. I think the cute card would work well, but you've got to butter up to the audience a lot more than you might feel comfortable with."
"I will literally consider everything just to win and be able to see my family again," came the expected dry retort. "Lay it all on me."
At the beginning of the next day, the hours filled with careful planning and impromptu acting lessons ("stop being so snarky!" "shut it, old man!"), the train cut through the final stop of the Rocky mountains. Or, well, they weren't called that now, but they had been called that when Panem used to be the United States of America. It was weird to think that the equivalent of the nation's main headquarters for national domination and dictatorship was Salt Lake City, Utah. Location wise. Fucking Utah.
Yonnor emerged out his room when the tunnels through the mountains cleared for the view to the lively city of the Capitol.
"Finally started drinking five barrels of moonshine rather than ten?" He snarked, seeing Haymitch act mostly sober during breakfast time. We carefully did not exchange any meaningful glances, knowing the boy would catch them. It would soon not become a secret that the mentor was favoring me over him, and I wasn't eager on letting that happen in an area like a passenger train.
"What, you respecting me now or somethin'? I always start the day with a healthy swig of twenty barrels," Haymitch slurred out, spreading a grossly thick layer of marmalade on his toast. Oh dear. His hangover must be worse than we had initially thought.
"Oh, Yonnor, Blaire, you should observe the sights of the city," Effie called out from the window seats, frantically waving a hand over. I noted with dumb absent-mindedness that each finger had three gold plated rings in the gaudiest display of jewelry my eyes had ever been privy to.
The city hadn't been done justice to in the film, that much could be said. Instead of plain concrete and stone formulaic skyscrapers, this utter metropolis held a rich vibrancy to it only discovered when I had visited Hong Kong and Tokyo in my previous life. Different levels of buildings used odd geometric sequences for its tinted windows, some buildings were set in highly saturated neon colors formed in seemingly structurally impossible formations, and the odd jumble of Roman architecture such as Corinthian columns lined plasticky and tacky shops along smooth, mica mixed concrete streets. Boisterous was a polite term for the color scheme, but the lively culture so easily displayed in contrast to District Twelve, even compared to its rich merchants section, held everything against it. Effie's funky Capitol accent would be heard from all over the city, which I was looking forward to the most, if tributes were given the opportunity to wander through the metropolis. Probably not, but at least it'd be fun to talk to my stylists.
"They... they live like this? When half the kids back home are on the brink of starvation?" Yonnor whispered against the glass of the window.
Haymitch sucked in a breath and patted the boy's shoulder. "Keep that information to yourself, kid. Your best shot at winning is making the Capitol like you."
The copper haired boy offered an unconvincing smile, but it was an improvement from looking constantly angry at the world. Angry rightfully so, but brains mattered over brawns in the upcoming week.
"We'll be taking you to the Remake Center, which is right next to the Victor's Squire and Training Centor, so you'll be right at home within just one block," Effie informed us simply as the train lulled to a stop and thousands of chattering fans awaited outside the doors. "Remember to smile at the people and all the cameras!"
Yonnor snorted and I immediately shoved on a bright smile as the doors slid open to reveal us to the world.
I knew from previous games that from here on out, we'd be televised every minute of our time in the capitol, from the doors of the welcoming train opening to the very last heartbeat in the arena. Perhaps spending the most amount of time during the opening ceremony, interviews, and a brief interlude over the training sessions, but that was all unimportant when the reality that I was about to be sent to a slaughterhouse in just a week. The safety of Katniss' inner thoughts from her book narrative was calming enough, but she had been in the relative familiarity of a deciduous forest. This year, it was probably going to be a war zone due to the number sixty-nine. While none of the residents alive in Panem may have remembered the infamous sex jokes behind the number, the number itself still held a weird amount of significance among street gurus and "list of favorite numbers."
Strange American cultures of the far past societies slipped into modern culture through centuries of heavy handed use and forgotten stories, which really hit home that this was a futuristic dystopian society.
Our escort to the Remake Center was made brief by keeping to ourselves and smiling the entire short walk to the pink cotton candy colored building in the shape of a light bulb. Upon entrance, a group of three strangely colored stylists immediately took my wrists and dragged me off into a different room. Effie chimed a jolly "good luck" before the door locked.
The three members of my personal prep team announced themselves as Flavius, Venia, and Octavia - classic Latin inspired names popular in the Capitol. I struck conversation with the three of them while they focused on waxing and scrubbing away dirt on my lower body in order to gain a sense of familiarity with them.
"Have any tributes refused to strip naked during the prepping?" I inquired, wincing at the painfully hot wax applied to my recently hairy legs.
Venia guffawed in exasperation. "Oh dear, absolutely yes! In fact, the girl we worked on two years ago was so painfully shy with her body she refused to let us even touch her torso! A nightmare case, I tell you."
Octavia, a woman with mint green skin and strange gems embedded into her temples, nodded exuberantly. "Ah yes, yes. In fact, you're the nicest and most compliant tribute we've had the pleasure of working with so far! Good grief!"
Flavius rubbed a lavender smelling lotion on my legs that was speckled with shimmery glitter bits while sighing in their gossiping. "If it's anything we hate, it has to be whiny customers."
I laughed along, nodding cheerfully. "Of course, that makes sense. The fullest extent of your talents would doubtlessly create a perfect human being."
Octavia pressed a hand against her heart. "Oh, you warm my heart, darling."
It took just over an hour to finish cleaning and pruning my body to perfection ("you're young yet, doesn't need too much waxing and facials") before I was sent into an adjacent room with an eagerly awaiting stylist.
She announced herself to be Potentia, and had been working with District Twelve for the past five years. Since she was not the genius that was Cinna, a scant thirty minutes later, I emerged into a waiting area wearing a gross depiction of my home - namely, a dress made of rocks. Potentia didn't use actual coal because the structure of the material wasn't compatible with whatever design she wanted weaved into the heavy duty linens of the lumpy, unflattering dress. Sadly enough, I looked better off than Yonnor, who was only wearing a simple white loincloth, a fake coal chest-plate, and a black helmet covering most of his notable facial features.
"Wow, how sexy."
"Oh, shut it," He snapped, his neck flushing red. "At least you still look like a person."
He had a point there.
Effie and Haymitch creaked a door open to our side, then our mentor immediately burst into giggles.
"Ah, it just gets worse the more I look at it!" He exclaimed, holding his sides.
Effie's face became strained. "Well, it's certainly better than five years ago, remember? Poor dears wearing nothing but coal dust and miner's hats. Not even a speck of makeup on their pale faces."
"Haa... true, oh gosh. This is still hilarious. Not terrible enough to diminish your chance for sponsors, though. Just the right amount of funky to pull some interest in. Potentia and her apprentice really pulled through this year."
Yonnor buried what was left of his face in his hands. "When does the chariot ceremony start?"
Seeing how we were the loser district, nobody came to interact with us during the small waiting period on the bottom floor of the Remake Center, where the back waiting area was a glorified stables. All the horses were surprisingly well trained, not even needing reigns to guide their actions.
"Selective breeding," I pointed out to Yonnor who was petting our coal black horses' manes. "The Capitol breeds the perfect horses through something called selective breeding."
He raised an eyebrow. "Oh, right. You were a teacher's assistance for a while, weren't you."
"And you a coal miner," I shot back, unwilling to provide any edge. He grinned with too many teeth.
A blast of music spreads through the air in what I presumed to be trumpets as our mentor, stylists, and escort step back to the sides in order for the doors to open and the ceremony to start.
"Smile!" Effie reminded as we climbed onto the jet black chariot drawn by our four tame horses. And then the massive doors ahead of the chariots swing wide open and a cheering crowd began to reveal itself.
District one went first, then two, then three, and eventually it was our turn. The horses trot along at a faster pace than expected, rounding up the entire pack of twenty four tributes shown.
The dazzling city lights and humongous crowds of people were overwhelming at first, but the more my resolve to win and go home strengthened, the more calm I felt in my security to charm over the people of the Capitol and of Panem as a whole. The gamemakers tried to create easier situations for fan favorites, after all, as they brought up the viewing rates and general economic flow of the citizens.
I waved with all the glamour and glitter shining through my eyes, blowing little fairy kisses at the people. Perhaps Gale would find my ensemble hilarious, I thought, and suddenly my smile widens at the thought of my twin.
Finally, through the pulsating in my head from the rapid beats of funky electronic music booming overhead in speakers, the chariots aligned themselves around the City Circle in front of Snow's mansion. The music cut to a close and President Snow emerged from his balcony. And intense amount of hatred fueled threw me at the simple sight of his face and overly swollen lips. The national anthem turned on at the end of his propaganda filled speech concerning the ultimate power of the Capitol and the history behind the games and the amazing new sport created out of a well earned lesson. And then the parade ended like it started, with fast paced jaunt all the way to a different building, the Training Center. It's massive new doors shut closed and Yonnor sighed in relief at the end of the whole spectacle.
"Stupid helmet," he mumbled, ripping it off his head.
The layout of the Training Center's ground floor remained identical in shape and structure to the previous Remake Center, down to the lime green doors for the horse stables and the electric blue ceiling tiles. Even though partnering up and forming alliances was a solid way to win the games, it most likely would put an ever larger target on my back if I were to talk to the other tributes milling towards the elevators to reach their floor. That was because in a group, the other members would most likely be willing to form the consensus decision that I would be the first to go, throat slit in the middle of the night, due to my young age and slight stature as an underfed barely teenage girl.
Unwilling to share an elevator with other districts, Yonnor and I waited until we were the last to go to ride the elevator alone.
"How was your prep team?" I drawled out, leaning against the glass walls of the luxury elevator box. Its design held a futuristic decoration and usage of glass, but the elevator overall appeared to function like the average one did back during the twenty-first century. I supposed that people were to busy killing each other using bigger and better nuclear technology rather than investing time into efficient travel systems. Seriously, those aircrafts had better not run on fossil fuels, or else I'd hate President Snow even more for just messing up the environment.
Yonnor shivered. "Ugh, it was horrible. They literally poured burning hot wax on my armpits and ripped all my hair out for the sake of 'perfection.'" He kicked the elevator door. "Capitol idiots, the lot of 'em."
While true, it remained the wise decision to not voice that thought aloud. Especially while in the Capitol.
"Floor: District Twelve," the elevator chimed monotonously, then revealed a floor with wonders only compared to something Tony Stark would build over the weekend.
We stepped out onto lush carpeted floors, heads spinning to catch every minuscule detail in the crystal ornaments of the multi-tiered chandeliers, the swirling window panes providing a perfect view of the bright neon colors of the city down below, expensive woods for the cushioned furniture, and marble decorations atop every table top and surface.
"At least I'll die happy," he muttered, at which I couldn't help but laugh at.
Effie, now in a bombastic new change of clothes, walked into the living area from an upstairs door. "Ah, yes! Our lovely tributes. Like what you see? Victors get to live in this type of luxury for the rest of their lives, and even get to visit the capitol for the games or other special occasions like their victory tour and whatnot."
As if to diminish the effect she was aiming to achieve, Haymitch stumbled out of the kitchen holding a bottle of brown viscous liquid in each hand, more red-cheeked than a newborn baby.
"Drinks!" He cackled. "We get drinks! I get drunk. Woo-hoo!"
Oh dear. His absolute drunkenness probably meant he still didn't really believe in his tributes. I mentally prepared myself to not get any sponsors during the games.
"Time for you to go to bed, old man," I sighed fondly. "Come on, brush your teeth and wash your face. Or just dump your head in a bucket of suds - your hair could really use a washing."
Effie wrinkled her nose in agreement, waving a manicured hand by her nose.
"Off to bed with you lot," she agreed to everybody. "Tomorrow's the first day of training and it's good to do your very best to make allies and impress the gamemakers!"
"S'not it," Haymitch slurred, uncapping a bottle. "That's not right. S'not right."
He meant to say that it was best to keep your abilities to yourself, then reveal true abilities to the gamemakers private audience, but it wasn't like Yonnor and Effie could decipher his barely comprehensible speech. I shot a pair of thumbs up, which in turn made the man chortle in surprise and whoop loudly all the back to the bathroom, where retching noises could be heard.
My private quarters were as large as our house back in the Seam, styled in a wide studio styled penthouse. But when I tried to open the doors to the penthouse balcony to look at the busy streets full of interesting cultures, the doorknob immediately melted into its metal frame. I jolted backwards. The fact that the gamemakers needed to assure that tributes wouldn't commit suicide by possibly jumping out the window by locking us in had to be an extreme measure from more than one instance of teen suicide. I hadn't remembered watching any games where that had occurred, but Capitol technology was talented enough to perhaps create a robot for the public appearance full of fake blood for a theatrical and ultimately true looking death in the arena.
On a separate topic, the bathrooms were amazing. Several different nozzles, all at the most tissue deep massaging pressure mixed in with mesmerizing rose petal scented steam. A mint lay beside the sink, and when I chewed on it, a burst of sharp and cold flavor burned through my teeth and gums. Judging by the lack of toothbrush and toothpaste, that intense mint had served as both.
My clothes from before were no where to be seen, but my little elephant figurine rested on the expansive king bed's thin silky sheets.
"Good night, Gale. Good night, mom, Rory, Vick, and little Posy," I bid to the blank features of the elephant, tucked it against the lamppost by the bed, then fell face first into the pillows.