I hate the overnight train ride, it's a waste of time. It takes only three hours to get from District 2 to the Capitol, but we have to travel at a slug's pace because of the 'body count' districts. They live too far from the Capitol to reach it in less of a day, and because of the cameras and the fans, all the districts have to arrive at the train station at the same hour. At least the train has a gym, so Cato doesn't miss on his morning training. If he's anything like me, he probably spent the night there preparing for the game.
We decided to volunteer this year because Cato is at the same age I was when I volunteered for my game. But fate pulled a prank on us and Cato's name got picked anyway. As a game strategy that's as bad as it can get. Volunteering shows the sponsors that you're a willing competitor, that you're there to win. Luckily Cato turned things back on his side when he kicked that other boy on the chest. I couldn't have done better myself.
The Sun is not up yet, but I get up anyway. As I expected, Cato is at the gym. By the look of him, he didn't sleep a single minute yesterday. "How are you doing son?" He stops hitting the punching bag, his face is all red, and his arms are trembling.
"Honestly, I'm a little nervous, dad," he says, and it shows, I can't believe this kid.
"Nervous? After all we trained? You don't get to be nervous Cato! That's for 'body count' districts, not us!"
"You know what dad, it's just adrenaline. It's not a big deal," he says walking away from me. He knows I hate when he does that.
"Don't you turn your back on me, Cato! I'm the one who says when the conversation is over, not you!" I'm furious right now, who this dumb kid thinks he is?
"I just don't want to talk about it dad," his meek voice makes my insides boil, I slap him hard on his face. Cato looks at me in shock, eyes full of tears. So help me God he's better not start crying.
This is all Cato's fault. If he was more like me, we wouldn't be having a problem. After our embarrassing performance on the Quarter Quell, I knew I was the one who had to take the title back home to 2, and I did. I didn't get half of his training, but I pulled through and became a victor. Now Cato needs to stop being a baby and do what he's meant to do, bring pride to our district. I grab him by the collar and push him against the wall. He's heavy, but I'm strong enough to hold him there.
"Now you listen to me you little shit. You are going to man up and got back to your room to get ready for the cameras. If I see you cry again, I'm going to give all the sponsors' credits to Clove. Is that what you want? To see that psycho with your money?" I can see the rage building up on his eyes.
"No, sir," he says, clenching his teeth.
"Good, now go take a shower." He's no victor yet, as much as I tried, I couldn't kill the boy inside of him. What I got will have to do, there is no other option, there is no second place in the Hunger Games.
Our new escort doesn't shut up for a second during breakfast. I think Clove makes her nervous. I knew about Clove's reputation before she volunteered for the games, I was there when they lashed her. She didn't scream or cry, not once. I can't tell what's going on her mind, and that makes me anxious. The only time she shows some form of emotion is when we cross the mountains and reach the Capitol.
"Check it out!" Cato is practically screaming with excitement.
The Capitol never looks as good as the first time you see it. The bright colours, the beautiful women, the cool cars, I let the kid enjoy it while he can because it's all a mirage. Next year when he comes back for the victory tour, this place will look like the morning after a party. But even as the colors fade and you start to notice only the freaks among the capitol people, the Hunger Games remain the same. That's the only thing that makes all of this worth it.
The train station is full of people, reporters, and cameras. All of them are here to get a closer look at the competitors. That's the moment when the madness starts. Teenage girls in puffy colourful wigs scream Cato's name and try to grab him, the cameras' flashes blind us. We wave, smile and take pictures with fans while security pushes us to keep walking to our cars. It's a short walk, but it feels like an eternity. My ears are still ringing when we reach the makeover center.
While Cato and Clove are hushed to get prepped for the Chariot Ride, Enobaria and I are prepped for our press conference with the other mentors at the Training Center. It's mandatory, but is a good way to get sponsors and gives me a chance to explain why Atlas, our victor from last year games' isn't here like he's supposed to.
We barely have time to greet the other mentors when they announce our names to move to the press conference room. The moderator calls our districts numbers, followed by our names, and we walk to our places. More flashes from cameras and loud ovation. Enobaria and I sit in the side of the table with "District 2" written on a plaque. The reaction from the reporters winds out after some time. The last districts enter the room with polite, but lukewarm applause.
I would feel ashamed to be from one of the outline districts. They tarnish the legacy of the Hunger Games. The careers, in general, don't receive any advantage during the game. It's no secret that we train harder, and our victors are the result of that work. And I take great pride in them. Since Cato is part of a legacy, it's customary that I get more attention than the other mentors. A reporter in a bright purple suit stands up. "Good afternoon, my question is for District 12."
You have to be kidding me. The press conference lasts forty minutes, and I they asked me only one question, I didn't even get to explain why Atlas wasn't here! 12 gets lucky one year, and now all the news channels start to act like they matter. These tributes will probably die in the Bloodbath anyway. There is no reason to get all worked up about them.
After the press conference, we're ushered to the room where we'll watch the Chariot Ride. I'm not much of a drinker, but after that press conference I need a drink. Gloss and Cashmere come by to say hello and congratulate me on Cato's reaping. They are mentoring two seventeen-year-olds named Marvel and Glimmer. District 1 is our biggest competition. They not only send their deadliest competitors, they also are usually the most attractive ones. Which never fails to get the attention of the Capitol's pervert sponsors, who pay a fortune for a night with a victor from 1. I wonder if their tributes know that before volunteering.
Gloss is in the middle of telling a story when an Avox come by with a note asking me to follow him. I excuse myself and follow the man through a maze of corridors going deep into the Training Center, until we reach a small room. There I found that bastard Plutarch Heavensbee. "What the hell do you want?" I say gathering all my strength to not jump at his throat.
"I see that you're still upset about what happened last year." I can't believe the nerve on this guy, because of him our victor Atlas Kentwell threw himself out of a flight of stairs just so he couldn't be mentoring this year.
"Do you have any idea how many sponsors are we losing because of you?" Plutarch orders the Avox to wait outside and asks me to sit on the only other chair in the room.
"The sponsors aren't that important in this year. Not with the arena Seneca made. What you need is a good producer," he says.
"Don't tell me you're producing us again." Last year was a nightmare. On the very first night, Atlas killed all the careers and set the supplies on fire. All because the producers wanted more action. It took us months to mend our relationship with the other career districts after that.
"Luckily for you, I am. Times are changing Gallio, people want more story centered games, the usual isn't working anymore," Plutarch says.
"Once you're in the arena the story doesn't matter, the strongest tribute always wins," I say.
Plutarch shakes his head, "Not always, remember Beetee's games?" Of course I remember. The egghead electrocuted six tributes. Now he refuses to mentor because he says that's too much for him. And yet, he has no problems working with the team that builds the arenas. Even that drunk Haymitch has more dignity. "Look, I was talking with the producers from 1 and 4, we all think Cato has a lot of potential, if I could bet on any tribute I would put all my money on him, but I'm concerned about his temper. He needs to listen to me."
I don't think this is going to work at all, it should be me telling Cato what to do, but the rules don't allow that. As soon as he's in the arena the only thing I can do as a mentor is to send him sponsors' gifts and hope he doesn't do anything stupid. "Cato wouldn't listen to anyone but me. The only thing he cares about is to win at any cost it takes," I say. Plutarch takes a moment to process the information looking at me with what I think is suspicion in his eyes.
"I see," he smiles, "I think we can work with that."
Plutarch excuses himself, and I follow the Avox back to the mentors' lounge. The Chariot Ride is about to start, so we make our way to one of the balconies to watch the event. I get to be alone for less than a minute when Finnick Odair and Johanna Mason join me. "Gallio! I saw that your kid got lucky this year," he says.
Finnick and Johanna are the worst of the new generation of victors. They both think this whole thing is a joke. Instead of concentrating all his efforts on mentoring his tributes, year after year they come to the Capitol to go to parties and whore themselves to anyone with enough money to spend. At least the other victors that have to prostitute themselves have the decency to be discreet about it. These two, on the other hand, seem to enjoy it.
"Yes, we are very fortunate. He would've volunteered, but luck got the best of us this year," I say.
Johanna lets out a laugh louder than I expect. "Yes, seems like sons and daughters of victors are born blessed with a great amount of luck. Must be in the genes," she says in an overly sarcastic tone. It's an open secret among mentors that the Capitol fix the reapings to increase the probability of having a victor's son in the games; however, not all victors had a child reaped, only the ones with potential.
"Or maybe some districts just breed better victors than others." Cato's reaping wasn't an accident, I'm sure of it. "And this year, 2 is going to have another legacy victor. Mark my words."
"Yes, that could be true. But did you see that boy from 11? Chaff can't shut up about him," Finnick says. I'm tempted to laugh at Chaff's excitement. He also got lucky this year, the boy is built like an ox, but he lacks Cato's training and focus.
"We saw him on the recaps, Cato can't wait to pull a sword through his heart." The music from the ceremony starts to play on the speakers. President Snow and his Generals make their entrance.
"Not if the boy kills him first," Johanna says. There is no emotion in her voice, not humour or sarcasm. She's stating the fact that the tribute from 11 might kill my son. It's funny that she thinks that's a possibility.
"Outline districts are here to be body count before the actual game starts. They may get lucky every once in a while, but the careers are the ones that people want to see as victors." The Chariot Ride starts, District 1 leads the way in a silver chariot pulled by snow-white horses. Cato follows them in a chariot pulled by two black horses. He wears a golden armor, a modern version of the one I wore on my Chariot Ride. Sometimes, back home, I close my eyes and I can still feel the cold wind on my face, and the crowd shouting my name. However is not my name the crowd screams this year, neither is Cato's.
"Looks like Haymitch also got lucky this year," she says. District 12's chariot had barely entered the street, and it catches the crowd's attention. From the far distance, it appears that are flames going out of them. It must be my eyes distorting the image.
"The lovers' thing is just a gimmick. It won't pan out in the end." As they move closer and I can't believe what I see. The tributes from 12 have actual flames going out of them. As if that wasn't already enough to grab all the attention, the two decide to share a long passionate kiss. Even President Snow's speech is muffled by the crowd screaming their names.
Finnick turns to me before they leave to see their tributes and says in a quiet voice, "Even you have to admit Gallio, that's a very good gimmick."
A/N: So what do you guys think about evil-Haymitch? Do you hate him? I know I do. But I hope it'll shed some light on Cato's actions and motivations.
Also, Johanna's backstory is going to be some what different from the books, but I won't get into it right now. That's for the future.