AAAAAAT LAAAAAAAAAAAST!
We're at the final reapings and then we'll be doing the pre-Games shenanigans. Hope y'all are prepared for some of these interactions I've got up my sleeve ;) Great big thank you to HogwartsDreamer113 and CelticGames4 respectively for these characters.
20 - Naive and Inquisitive
Avita Clements-McMillan, 15, C-District 11
Avita huffs loudly while her mother finishes up grooming the bright pink poodle in front of her. Ever since she'd found out which Districts would be represented by the area she lives in, Avita's had a perpetual pout on her face. Why did it have to be the lamest of the lame ones? Why couldn't they do One and Two outside the training centre instead of Eleven and Twelve?
"Sweetheart," Florentina says slowly. "You'll make your veins pop if you keep them puffed out like that."
She quickly deflates her cheeks and rubs her hands over them.
"Sorry, Mom," Avita mumbles. She really doesn't mean to make such a fuss over all this, but it's one of those times where she can't help it. What if she gets picked and winds up with the worst Districts ever? The kids from there probably don't even know what poodles are!
The kids from Eleven and Twelve probably eat poodles to keep from starving…
Avita groans and flops onto the couch. "Why did it have to be them?"
"It's how the cookie crumbles, sweetie. Those who live closest to the Training Centre are assigned to Eleven and Twelve."
The door flies open, Avita's other mother speeding into the room with a rapid click clack of her heels. There's a huge grin on her face, sticky notes stuck to her notebook with small words scrawled over them.
Varinia Clements is in her element with the sudden inclusion of Capitolites in the Quell. She lives for the Games like everyone else, and being a celebrity gossip columnist probably helps with that enthusiasm. Victors basically become honorary celebrities until they do something momentous with their earnings—and Varinia is right there to report it, spreading the news far and wide. Avita likes knowing about those victors; they won an honourable fight, which means they have every right to be with the best of the best of the Capitol.
Well. Except maybe the outer District victors. Avita's still torn on them.
"You wouldn't believe it," Varinia announces as she approaches her wife, "but Luxor Aricunai himself is in the Games."
Avita crawls off of the couch and grabs for her mother's jacket. "The Luxor Aricunai!?"
Varinia nods. There's a childish glee in her eyes, one Avita hasn't seen since Nirav Cashile won the Ninety-Third Games. It's a glee that says gossip is abundant in this Games, that Varinia will be on top of the magazine sales with everything she'll gather.
"We've got some other interesting ones too—the Warwick kid and Raime Wormwood's son."
Florentina gasps loudly at that. "Two high ranking Peacekeepers' sons?"
"I know!" Varinia sidesteps over to the couch. She pulls Avita with her, sitting her daughter down by her side as she reads over the other sticky notes. "Oh, Flor, do you remember that car crash last year with the single mother?"
Her wife applies the finishing touches to the poodle's coat, satisfied with how clear the pastel pink dye has come out. "I think so? What about it?"
Varinia's giddy smile gets even giddier. "The kid who was behind the wheel volunteered!"
Avita watches as her mothers chatter about the news. The way they all talk about how the Peacekeeper children wound up with a Career and a strong girl sends a wave of envy through her, another pout making its way to her face. Why does everyone else get the good Districts while Avita has a chance at the lame ones? It just isn't fair at all. She shouldn't even have to have that risk in the first place, being from the Capitol. The Hunger Games are meant to punish the Districts; putting Capitol kids in for such a silly reminder is dumb.
It'd be easier to show that reminder through Peacekeepers and laws.
Underneath all that bitterness, though, Avita is scared to death. She's a Capitolite. She's never supposed to go into an arena and fight for her life, even if she has a one in twelve chance of winning among her peers. The thought of picking up a weapon, of getting blood on her hands… It's scary and sickening.
Varinia jumps off of the couch and leans down to peck her wife on the cheek. Avita scrunches up her face and looks away as Florentia turns and aims for Varinia's lips. PDA always makes her uncomfortable, even if it's good to know her mothers still love each other as much as they did when they adopted her and Philo. Varinia giggles and tells Florentina she'll be home as soon as she can, and then attention is back on Avita.
"Ready to go, hon?"
Avita's never crawled off the couch faster in her life, even compared to the earlier news about Luxor. She takes Varinia's hand and walks out of the room with a final goodbye to Florentina. Before they even reach the front door Philo is sprinting after them and begging to come watch.
Avita won't deny that she'd enjoy having Philo around for comfort, but the obsession he has with District Three will probably get on her nerves again. She doesn't care for the nerds who come from there, even if one of them turned out to be just as ruthless as some Careers in the past. There really won't be a lot to see with Eleven and Twelve, either. As far as Avita knows, they're nowhere near as intelligent as what Three produces.
But Varinia relents, and Philo is quick to take his mother's free hand and stride out the door with them. The eleven-year-old gushes and gossips about what the tribute from Three seems to be like, even mentioning a girl calling out a percentage while the tribute walked onstage.
"She must've been one of the smarter ones," he goes on as they get into their car. "I did the calculations and she was right on the mark!"
"That's amazing, Philo!" Varinia starts up the car. She reaches over and pats Avita reassuringly on the knee, earning a weak smile from her daughter. Philo is forgotten as the sound of the engine fills the silence, but Varinia wastes no time jumping into Concerned Mom Mode. "You doing okay, hon?"
Avita sucks in a deep breath. She reaches up and carefully pats her curls, making sure her afro is still in place. "As fine as I'll ever be in this."
"Well." Varinia drives out and into the street, joining the line of cars heading towards the Training Centre. "If it's any help, I think you'll do great if you end up in the Games."
It doesn't help a lot—she doesn't want to even be in the Games—but Avita still appreciates it. If Games-crazy, all-loving Varinia thinks she'd do great, then it'll all work out okay.
"Mom is in the upcoming Dog Show after the Quell," Varinia adds. Avita immediately perks up. She loves it when her mother competes in the Annual Capitol Dog Show. "I'll see if I can get us a peek backstage to look at all the poodles up close, hey?"
Avita lets out a small squeal. Seeing all those dogs before they go out and strut their stuff? Getting to pet them? It's a dream come true, especially since the VIP box isn't as glamourous as she'd hoped.
"You're the best, Mom!" She leans over and tries to rub Varinia's shoulder. The seatbelt clicks and stops her from moving too close, apparently thinking Avita is flying about. "I hope she wins."
"Me too, hon." Varinia smiles softly. It's the smile of someone who adores their partner with all their heart, willing to go through Hell and back for them. "Me too."
…
"Avita Clements-McMillan. I'm fifteen."
Varinia waves to her as she and Philo join the crowd forming outside the Training Centre. Avita waves back, just as the official says to her, "All set. Take a spot wherever, Avita."
She walks over to the crowd of children forming before the doors. There's some girls she recognises from school, some girls she's noticed live on her street. Avita chews her lip as the nerves start to act out. She shouldn't be going through this. Only those dumb, lawless Districts should be doing this.
Avita looks left and right nervously as she settles into her spot. It probably won't be long before they start with proceedings, especially since she can see both escorts standing quietly by the Training Centre doors. There's no signs of mentors or tributes, which leaves Avita feeling even more uneasy about who will be chosen.
A lot of kids her age have been reaped before. She has just as much odds of going in like they did. It's scary. Avita just has to cling to the hope someone older will be reaped, remind herself that some reapings have resulted in volunteers so far. Like that kid Varinia told Florentine about. And he volunteered for rowdy District Nine! That's, like, the lowest standard of District, even compared to Twelve and Eleven!
No, she reassures herself. She won't be chosen. Even though there aren't as many people here as, say, the Opera House, there's still too many for every single slip with her name on it to matter. She'll be able to laugh about it later at the dog show, tell her woes to a poodle that takes her fancy.
At the thought of the dog show, she reaches up to feel along her afro for her hair pin. The poodle shape is hard to miss, though sometimes Avita worries it'll fall out or something. Thankfully it's right where she put it this morning, still on display and letting everyone know she means business when it comes to canines.
Feedback echoes through the crowd, and Avita quickly slams her hands over her ears. The escort for Eleven covers her mouth with a look of horror, quick to retreat to the two teens that have just arrived. Twelve's escort takes the microphone instead, a distasteful glare aimed at the poor woman with the teens.
"Ladies," Twelve's escort announces, "welcome to the final reaping for this year's Quell."
Two others arrive at her side, one a stoic man and the other a shaking, wide-eyed child. Avita can feel bile rising in her mouth. It's just the Hunger Games. The District deserve this—her moms always said so! This is their penance. They deserve this.
But none of the Capitol children here do.
"I am Buttercup and with me are Cole Aish from District Twelve and…" She scrunches up her face, the most vivid picture of offense and lividity on her face. "Nirav Cashile," she growls through her teeth. A few of the adults boo, though Avita isn't sure why. He won the Games for his year, so he should be treated like the other victors. Right? What did Nirav do to make people hate him so much?
She watches as one of the teens from Eleven makes a gesture to Nirav. The boy raises his right hand, only his smallest and index fingers pointing out of his fist; he touches the index to his nose before sweeping the hand down to his chest, his small finger making contact.
Nirav shrugs at him. It's the look of, "No big deal," that she's seen Philo do sometimes over his homework. Nirav isn't bothered by the booing. He's just taking it in his stride.
The escort from Eleven tries again with the microphone, looking every bit like she wants to run into the Training Centre and cry. Avita wishes it was for the kids, but she knows a mortified expression when she sees one.
"And I'm Carlina," she says after a moment of silence. "With me are Jareth Vilna from District Eleven—" The more underweight of the teens looks up at his name, though the closed-off expression offers nothing to his first impression— "and Barley Tanton."
The one who'd gestured to Nirav waves nervously. He looks as though he wants to say something, but it gets caught in his throat as everyone else ignores him.
Two hands dip into the bowls between them. Carlina looks down at her slip almost blankly, somehow unaware of the held breaths and clutched hands in front of her. One more, they're all thinking. One more, and then we're safe for the rest of our lives.
Carlina pushes her cat-eye glasses up her nose and calls out, "Is there an 'Avita Clements-McMillan'?"
She freezes on the spot. Avita recognises her name—the precious name her mothers gave her—but her legs just aren't responding. Nothing is responding. It's like she's just now ejected her soul from her body thanks to… To the what? Shock? Surprise? Horror? She can't even tell what she's feeling right now.
Distantly, through the crowd of adults circling them, she can hear Varinia calling out to her.
"You can do it, baby girl!" she yells at the top of her lungs. Avita's head slowly turns in the direction of her mother's voice, to the sight of Philo propped up on Varinia's shoulders to get her attention. "You'll be amazing, Avita!"
"Talk to the girl from Three!" Philo adds with his hands cupped around his mouth.
Avita sucks in a deep breath and purses her lips tightly. No one's volunteering. Her family is already bidding her farewell. She might as well walk out before they drag her out.
She holds her head up high. She will swell with bravery, prove her superiority. Avita is certain of it. Once those District kids see her moxie, they'll be clambering to make her their ticket out of the arena. She marches out of the crowd and chest and cheeks puffed out in an attempt at looking strong. She catches Jareth scrunch his nose up at her—disrespectful, rude—but otherwise she is left to stand in silence by Barley.
Carlina leans down and whispers, "I'm sure you'll do great, Miss Clements-McMillan."
"I'm from the Capitol," Avita replies, not quite as quiet. "Of course I'll do great."
Unaware that she'd spoken loud enough for others to hear, a cheer and a round of applause ripples through the crowds. Some strangers are commending her for her brave face and patriotism, while some of her friends yell insistently that she'll never go a day without sponsorship gifts. Heat rises to Avita's face, a beam slowly making its way across her cheeks.
She is going to do great. Varinia never lies about Avita's success, no matter what.
Buttercup pops open her slip once the cheers die down, and she barely wastes any time calling out the name. "Florence Fontana!"
There's silence, lasting for almost a full minute before the Peacekeepers start standing on their toes in search of the girl. Some girls are shuffling around, searching amongst themselves. Avita's never heard of a Florence Fontana, but surely at least one of them has.
And then the grunts and shouts come.
"Ember, no!" An older girl weaves through the crowd, her face as white as a ghost's as she appears to drag someone behind her. "No! We're supposed to go to the aviary after this—we always do!"
The high pitched voice finally has a face to go along with it. The older girl looks similar to Avita and another girl in the Games this year—palate-wise, she corrects herself. Bright blue hair and bright pink eyes, but unlike Avita she's littered with tattoos along her arms. She drags out a smaller girl behind her, and the first thing she notices is the crocheted owl hat that covers half of her head. Opposite to "Ember", the smaller girl's hair is pastel pink and styled in two low pigtails, and she looks more like a fan of pastel colours and cute frills compared to the other's punk-inspired getup.
The smaller girl tries to yank her hand away, but "Ember" is quick to pull her into her arms and give her a tight hug.
"We can't today, Owlet," Avita barely hears Ember say. "It's the rules."
This must be Florence, she realises as her stomach drops to the ground. She looks the same age as Avita…
Florence ignores the punk girl, calling over Ember's shoulder, "Dad! Dash!"
"Florence…" Ember pulls away. Florence looks up at her with her bottom lip stuck out.
"What if they don't have owls in the arena?" the smaller girl whimpers.
It's an odd exchange for sure. It gets even more odd when Ember walks Florence over to the Twelve team, only to suddenly snatch the mentor by the collar of his shirt. Nirav looks absolutely terrified at the sudden aggression, and Avita considers herself lucky to catch the snarl from Ember that follows.
"Protect her with your life, or else."
Florence Fontana, 15, C-District 12
Every third Thursday of the month they're supposed to go to the aviary. It's their routine, their norm. They always plan around it for Florence's sake, so why can't they just do it today?
She struggles against the mentor's grip as he leads her into the Training Centre. Beside her is the small, dark-haired boy who looks scrawnier than a wet owl. He stares up at her with wide eyes, almost intrigued by her appearance. Florence ignores him somewhat.
"Let someone else do it," she grunts. The mentor just keeps his grip and drags her along, letting her shiny black flats scuff along the floor. Florence grunts louder. "I have to go to the aviary!"
The child by her side pipes up, "What's an aviary?"
He barely gives her much time to answer when he adds, "Why does your hat have eyes?"
"An aviary is a bird house, Mr. Aish," Buttercup answers through gritted teeth. Florence looks up at her, holding her stare for a few seconds, before a harsh glare settles on the girl. Is she angry? Florence isn't sure. Angry looks so different with everyone else—it gets so confusing. "Did you honestly have to make such a spectacle of yourself? For crying out loud, Mr. Aish did better than you when his name was called."
She didn't do anything bad. Florence just wanted to go to the aviary and see the owls again.
"We always go—"
"Enough!" Buttercup's nose twitches along with her brow. She sends her glare in Nirav's direction after interrupting Florence. "First you and now this. You'd better prove two negatives make a positive, Avox. If you can't get her to cooperate then I will personally see to it that you never see the light of day again."
Nirav holds her stare evenly. Is he not bothered by the statement? Florence would be if she wasn't allowed to see the sun again. Though she's not sure how the short, wiry escort could see to it personally.
"Honestly," Buttercup sighs. Is she still talking to them? She's not looking at the trio, so Florence can't say for sure. "Lola is going to have a field day mocking us again this year."
Florence perks up immediately. Lola? She's going to see Lola so soon? She thought it wouldn't happen until the interviews—will Buttercup be taking her to Lola?
Florence shoves past her mentor and gets right into Buttercup's face, beaming at her. The owl hat on her head almost falls off, already loosened from her earlier struggles. Florence hurriedly tugs it back over her forehead and asks, "Can I see Lola now?"
Buttercup gawks at her. "Excuse me?"
"I've always wanted to meet her," Florence goes on. "She's so pretty and funny. Did you know she was top of her class when she studied for her psychology major?
"Miss Fontana—"
"Do you think she likes lollipops?" Florence bounces on the balls of her feet. Ooh, this is so exciting! "I know she loves cotten candy but that's the only sweet thing she lets anyone know she likes."
Her partner tugs at her red skirt, earning a glance from her. "What's cotten candy—"
"Only Lola's most favourite sweet ever." Florence moves to him now, keeping close as they walk down the hall. "She's amazing, you know. She was ranked number six on the Capitol's most eligible bachelorettes four years in a row, too! Lola must have so many people chasing after her."
Florence sighs dreamily. She'd give anything to hug Lola just once. No—she'd give anything to be able to stay with Lola forever. She's the mother of her dreams, charismatic and witty and beautiful. And she meets all the famous people all the time in and out of the Games!
And with that thought, she hurriedly tightens her short pigtails. There's famous people in this Quell. Luxor Aricunai—the Luxor Aricunai—is a most definite standout. She wonders what he'll think of her owl hat. With the loving care her mother put into crocheting it, he must think it's beautiful! And it's an owl—what's not to love about the animal it was modelled after?
Florence sucks in a deep breath. Her fingers clutch at her skirt as she realises Buttercup is talking again, but the words don't sink in. She's about to meet two of her idols, one of them being her ideal celebrity parent. Despite all the uneasiness she's had towards the Games lately, Florence feels… What's the word? Her stomach is in knots and her face feels like it's tingling, more energy than usual flowing through her limbs. Is it ecstatic? She's not good at telling the difference between most feelings—but she knows this one isn't a bad one. It's not the swelling eyelids and hoarse throat she'd felt when her mother had passed. This is a good feeling.
A good feeling, she thinks. She'll have to ask Ember what it is when she gets home.
"Do they have owls here?" she blurts out loudly. Buttercup lets out a loud screech, her face turning bright red.
"I was talking—"
"Will the Gamemakers let me see one?" She looks up and down the hall. Where are they now? There's an elevator up ahead, but no signs of doors along the hall. When had they turned the corner behind them, she wonders? "Like the one from the Forty-Third Games?"
"What was the Forty-Third Games?" Her partner tugs at her skirt again. She beams down at him. All these questions make her feel light in her chest, like she's ready to explode with dozens of answers at once.
"It was a Hunger Games that had a giant owl guarding the Cornucopia," she explains. Florence throws her arms out to emphasise—and whacks Buttercup's hat off of her head. "It was a cute barn owl, too! One of my favourite birds. The last I heard about it was from an old news report saying it'd died a natural death in captivity, but I just know the Gamemakers will make more!"
The small boy's wide eyes light up. Something about the owl has caught his attention, even as he nearly trips over his own feet. "Are canaries like owls?"
Florence scrunches up her face. Compared to an owl, a canary is a tiny thing. Fragile, too.
"Canaries are a lot smaller," she decides. "Brighter, too."
Cole points to himself. "I'm a canary."
"You are?" Florence gapes down at him. There must be something about him that makes him feel close to canaries, she thinks. It's like her with owls, but less noticeable. Given the old "canary in a mineshaft" image, though, the coal dust he's covered in makes a little sense with the connection to the bird. So Florence points to her hat and declares, "I'm an owl!"
Her mentor snorts out a laugh, only to smack his hand over his mouth and walk faster towards the elevator. Buttercup mutters, "You're childish, is what you are," before she reaches out as far as she can and presses the button to summon the elevator.
She rocks back and forth on her feet as the elevator rises. Silence fills the space for only a few seconds, the view of the nearest homes just behind them, before an unmistakable voice sounds out over the speaker.
Florence squeals into her hand when she recognises Lola's voice.
"Shut up," Buttercup snaps. "They never do this unless it's important."
She clamps her hand over her mouth and nose, trying to plug as much noise as possible while she listens to the announcement. Florence would hate to miss anything Lola Amos says!
"—and I will be your host this year. Due to the nature of this year's Quell, Head Gamemaker Nero has requested that all Capitolite tributes—who will henceforth be referred to as C-District tributes—attend a meeting with her after the Parade concludes. You will be required to gather outside the office on the tenth floor, no mentor or escort needed. Thank you for your time and—"
"And may the odds be ever in your favour!" Florence shouts alongside Lola's farewell.
Another muffled laugh from her mentor. Another scrunched up face from Buttercup.
"This feels different," Florence babbles. She starts rocking back and forth again, clinging to the rim of her owl hat. "It's a good different—I've never felt like this before. All 'whee!' in my stomach and 'woosh!' in my arms. I hope my face doesn't start to hurt. Ember always teases me about pulling a muscle in my cheeks. There's forty-three facial muscles, so there's always a chance I'll do just that one day. Oh! But Lola can do it for so long, so maybe it's a practiced talent. I should practice my biggest smile while I'm here for her—do you think she'll like me if I do that? I hope she does. I really love Lola so much! Do you think she'll let me touch her hair or try on one of her costumes before I go into the arena?" Florence gasps. "Do you think she'll want to adopt me because she loves me so much?"
Cole tugs on her skirt again. "You talk a lot," he says simply.
"And that horrid explanation of how you feel is probably excitement," Buttercup deadpans.
"Yes!" Florence waves her arms about. "Excitement! That's it! I'm excited to meet Lola and Luxor and all the mentors and escorts. Maybe I'll even meet the President!"
That'd be amazing to live through. Sitting at a table with President Snow, Lola and Luxor, chatting over owls and eating their favourite foods. Maybe Luxor's parents can join too, since Darios is a Gamemaker. And Ms Nero! How could she forget Malvolia Nero? She looks like a snowy owl with her white hair and tattoos and golden eyes.
Florence sways left and right as the elevator slowly comes to a stop at the floor their stylists are waiting on. Maybe Luxor will teach her how to ballroom dance—he used to take lessons—and maybe even design her some clothes. Even though it's not inherently obvious to most, Florence is proud to say she can tell the difference between an outfit designed by Valerio Requio and an ensemble designed by Luxor Aricunai within a second. She's always liked the stuff Luxor makes better, which has her even more anxious to see him.
Even with how off it all feels, this is the best Hunger Games ever!
"Just go through here and meet with your stylists," Buttercup says as she gestures to the doors ahead. More people are in the room, filing towards the double doors with different expressions. It takes Florence a second to realise they're the other tributes, here to also meet their stylists. Well, more she doesn't realise until she sees Luxor with legendary Charlotte Harper by his side.
Florence practically sprints in after them, leaving her team in the dust. She stays focused on the silver hair and fur jacket, her breathing getting heavier and heavier as she runs through each greeting. What does she say? She could ask so many things right now, but it'll all come out at once and ruin the moment for her. What's most important? Can she skip the usual hello most people prefer? She could jump right into proving how dedicated a fan she is, couldn't she?
She sucks in a deep breath and readies herself to call out to Luxor. She doesn't notice the boy behind her until he harshly slams his shoulder into hers, knocking Florence to the floor. She lands on her hands and knees, head suddenly cold as the weight of her hat leaves it. Florence's breathing hitches for a different reason now. The whooshing and excitement is turning into something else. The butterflies are tormenting her now, trying to flutter up her throat and out her mouth.
Florence clamps her hand over her mouth as she frantically reaches for her hat. It's right in front of her, within arm's reach—and then it isn't, kicked further into the room by a girl in suspenders. Florence doesn't like how she's feeling now. She doesn't like the bad feeling rising in her chest. She doesn't like the shake in her shoulders and the downward pull of her lips. She needs to get her hat. She needs her precious hat. She needs to stay her mother's little owlet.
Another hand reaches down for the hat, and for a moment Florence thinks it's going to be stolen away from her. She squeaks weakly, her eyes stinging as she stares up at the owner of the hand. The boy can't be much older than her—maybe two years at the most—and the smile on his face is warm and apologetic. It reminds her of how North, Ember's girlfriend, would smile whenever she wanted to cheer Florence up. It reminds her of warm hugs and kisses to her cheek, Frances Fontana telling her to be herself no matter what.
The sound that crawls out of her throat would probably be called pitiful by Buttercup.
"Is this yours?" the boy asks. Florence nods frantically, already on the verge of hyperventilating. He hums with interest before opening the bottom of the hat. Florence just watches with wide eyes as he lifts it over her head and snugly sets it back in place. She stares at his teal button-up, at the blue eyes filled with only kindness. "Better?"
She nods again. She grabs the end of the hat and clings tightly once again. "Thank you," she squeaks. "It's a really special hat."
"I'll bet," he agrees. The charming smile on his face reminds her of Dashiell's gentlemanly expressions. "Which District are you representing?"
"Twelve." Florence watches as Cole enters at last, his attention stuck like glue to the room and its countless curtains. "What about you? I didn't—I only saw the last five reapings."
"Six," he tells her. "Do you want to walk with me until we get to my area? Yours should be after it."
It's a kind offer. Florence looks over her shoulder at Cole again, the boy finally noticing her, and she nods. "Can my partner come too?"
He grins at her. "The more, the merrier!"
Florence breathes out a short sigh of relief. Despite the panic she'd just gone through, her statement still remains true. This is still the best Hunger Games.
Tada! We're here, we're here! Let me know what you think of Avita and Florence, and if I did them justice with these introductions. Since I got some of the other pre-Games chapters done quickly during my holiday, I should be able to update within the week! Till then, here's a more laid-back QQ!
QQ #15: Would you rather be a pampered pooch or an all-knowing avian?