Hey everyone! Before the chapter starts I just wanted to tell you about something that's been annoying me about . I'm sure some of you have noticed that some of the chapters don't have italics and bolded text where it's supposed to be. For some reason it's sometimes changed to normal text when I publish the chapter. Even if I try to go back and fix it, it doesn't work. Not only is it super annoying, but it also makes the chapter harder to read. I don't know if anyone has had similar problems, but I'm sorry about it. Anyway, here's the Tribute Parade!
Rufina Fastolf (18)- D2F
The Capitol is even more beautiful than they say, glittering and stylish and loud. It's so loud and Hadrian and I wave to our fans at the train station. Their outfits are similar to what we see on TV, but it's more overwhelming when the Capitolites are only a window away from us. I wonder which of them will be sending me a package to help me kill my final opponent in the Games.
I glance at Hadrian, who is clearly enjoying himself beside me. I wonder if he will be my last kill. His proficiency with weapons is well-known in Two, and his brother Cassius has certainly given him some advice. Moreover, our ally in Four, Nicolette Anderson, is the daughter of two victors. My competition in the Career pack can't be understated.
The train eventually speeds up again and our cooing crowd disappears.
"That was fun," Hadrian says with a grin. For once he doesn't look cocky or terrifying, but genuinely happy.
"Yeah, but we're not here to have fun," I remind him.
He frowns at me. "I'm not a child. You'll see that in the arena." He turns on his heel and walks away from the window, back to his room.
I sigh and stare at the wall of the train tunnel that flies past us.
"We'll be at the Remake Center soon."
I turn and see Celia, victor of last year's Games. She's been mostly silent for this trip, talking with Cato, who Hadrian hasn't been warming up to well. They liked each other enough before Cato went into his own Games, but now he wishes Cassius could be his mentor, I can tell.
"Good," I say. "Honestly, I'm ready for the interviews. I want to show everyone how serious I am about this."
"That's good, but don't get ahead of yourself. Try to make the most out of every opportunity they give you. The parade is important too. And as for being serioius…" Celia puts a hand on my shoulder. "You're not the serious brooding type, I can tell. Being yourself will get you more sponsors than anything else."
That hurts a little. "I know I make jokes a lot, but I can be intelligent and cunning. I want the Capitol to know that."
"They already do," Celia says, her piercing gray eyes staring into mine. "You wouldn't be here if you weren't. They want to see what makes you special. The Parade is one of the first chances you have to do it, so don't waste it."
Denver O'Casey (14)- D10M
The Remake Center is possibly the largest building I've ever been in. The only comparison I can think of is the large meat-packing plant in Ten, but that must be only a third of the size of this place. And, I realize with a jolt. This is only the Remake Center. Across the City Circle is the Training Center and our apartments, where we'll live in luxury until the Games.
My prep team is chattering above me, hardly seeming interested in me at all. First they dunk me in a bath of fizzling water that practically burns my skin, then scrub me all over until I have no hair anywhere than on my head. I feel uncomfortable being stripped naked in front of three adult women, but none of them seem to see me as a human. They talk about me as if i'm not even there.
"His hair is too long," one comments, sharpening a pair of formidable looking scissors. "It's a nice color, but it needs to be shorter so we can style it."
The others chirp their assent and get back to clipping and cleaning my toenails. It's incredibly painful, and I have to grit my teeth each time she digs into the side of my nail. At least the hair-cutting doesn't hurt.
I can hear Filly receiving a similar treatment in the next room, though her team is having a conversation with her. I can't make it what they're saying, but I can hear her voice.
"What's the plan for my outfit?" I ask timidly.
All of the preppers stop and stare at me like I've said I hate the Capitol. The woman at my head has had her eyes dyed to look like a cat's, and it's terrifying. I can only hope they won't do something like that to me.
"The Parade outfits are made by your stylist. He'll be here soon."
"Oh." I think back on past costumes from Ten. Last year's tributes had been dressed as exaggerated ranchers in cowboy hats and chaps. It was clear that the stylists knew nothing about Ten.
"Do you want a look?" the prepper asks.
I look up in surprise. "Yes, thank you."
As the other two women rub a green cream on my legs, she brings me a large hand mirror. "What do you think?"
My mop of ginger curls has been shaved on the sides and treated so that it's straighter. The color almost shines in the harsh light of the Remake Center.
"It's… different."
"Yep. And now for the glasses. You want the surgery?"
"I'm sorry?"
"If you want, we can give you surgery to fix your eyesight. It will only take a minute."
"Oh, no thank you," I say quickly, anxiety making my heart beat faster. "I like my glasses."
"They might hold you back," one of women at feet chips in. The other prepper is now giving my fingernails the same painful treatment.
"I know. But I'll be careful not to break them."
"What? I meant they might not work with your outfits," she says with a frown. "Your stylist will have to work around them, and they're not very fashionable, let me tell you. Reminds me of that horrible trend a couple years ago when people wore those kinds of glasses. So ugly!"
The other preppers make affirming mmhmm noises. There's a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach as I realize who I'm talking to; just Capitolites who don't give a second thought about our deaths.
Amelia Waltraud (16)- D5F
I sit and wait, completely naked, for my stylist to arrive. My entire body is stinging from the scrub that my prep team rubbed all over me. I feel like a bird that's been plucked and is waiting to be roasted.
The door to my room opens and reveals a man who is dressed in a bright sky-blue suit with matching spiky hair that has streaks of white. His skin is marked with decorative scars on his cheeks that make him look like a torture victim. His smile looks terrifying, his teeth unnaturally white.
"Hello, my dear," he croons. "How excited are you? You're going to be the talk of the town."
"I h-hope s-so," I manage to say. I'm not used to speaking my mind often, except with Elanor, and this will be no different. As much as I want to tell this freakish man that I don't care about looking nice, I keep the words of my mentor in my brain: The tribute parade is your first appearance as a product. Make sure that product sells.
"You know, you and your partner look alike," he says, eyebrows furrowing. They look like small white mammals on his face. "Does everyone in Five have the same distant ancestor?"
My adrenaline spikes immediately. "N-no, I don't think so." Not able to come up with anything more, I leave it at that.
My stylist doesn't seem to mind, flipping through a binder that he brought in with him. "Well, maybe it's just a coincidence. I'm new to Five, so I still have a lot to learn about it. At least the two of you are somewhat attractive as you are. The noses are a little too long, but that's nothing some surgery can't fix if you win. What's more is it might become your signature. Victors always set surgery trends."
I don't understand half of what he's saying, but nod along anyway, slightly repulsed. I try not to think about Caleb as the stylist inspects my body. He seems nice, as nice as one can be when they're about to fight to their death against you, and quiet like me. I feel bad for keeping secrets from him.
Soon after my body is thoroughly poked and prodded, a large plastic suit is brought in by my prep team.
"Are you ready?" the stylist asks me, excitement apparent on his heavily altered face.
"I was born ready," I say with a sudden burst of confidence.
I can't say I'm not a little eager to see my costume. The prep team puts in on me, all chattering excitedly in that high-pitched accent of theirs. The black suit fits snugly around my body, leaving nothing to the imagination. It's a little embarrassing to say the least, especially when I remember I'm going to be literally paraded around before the entire nation. Around the lines of my body are strange wires that I don't think are visible from far away. I'm starting to question my stylist's sanity.
Sebastian "Seb" Cassara (18)- D7M
After my ridiculous costume is fitted to my body, my stylist takes me out to the front of the Remake Center, where Willow and the other tributes are waiting. I try to ignore all of them, despite the thick tension in the room. All twenty-four of us are now in the same room for the first time. I try to look as formidable as possible while avoiding all eyes.
"Hey," Willow says as I lumber over. I huff and ignore her while our stylists squeal over how amazing we look. I'm not fooled I know we look awful. Horrific. The horrible tree outfit makes my blood boil. That combined with having to stand next to Willow during the Parade makes me wish the Games had already started and I was killed in the bloodbath.
Unfortunately, Willow doesn't get the hint. "We look terrible."
I glance up at her. I wonder if she remembers our argument at all. She has a strange, unpredictable way of interacting with people. One minute she's yelling at our mentor, Johanna Mason, the next she's laughing with her over caviar.
"Yeah. I don't know what those idiots are thinking," I say under my breath, resisting the urge to rip off the fake branches on my shoulders. The paint job certainly took long enough to look "surreally realistic", whatever that means, but who cares? We're still the same lousy trees that Seven gets stuck with every year. One of the horses we're assigned to whinnies next to us. I sigh as I look up at the chariot we'll be standing. How are we going to climb up there without all of our branches falling off?
"We always get the worst costumes," Willow comments, her eyes scanning the crowd. I look around for the first time and realize she's right. There are some tragic outfits like ours, but most are at least somewhat sane.
"You're right," I say slowly. If Willow is expecting an apology, I'm not willing to give one. I was in the right, I know it. Although I can't exactly recall what our argument was about…
"Whatever, these stupid outfits don't count. We just need to look strong and confident no matter what they put us in. You can do that, can't you?"
I raise an eyebrow at her. It probably doesn't look as intimidating with my ridiculously styled hair. "I can do that, yes. You're the one that called me arrogant."
The corner of her lips twitches. "That's the spirit."\
"We should rebel," I say. "Tear all this off in front of the Capitol and just be out there naked."
"That sounds even worse. We're sticking to my plan."
Nicolette "Nikki" Anderson (17)- D4F
Today is not going as planned. Of course, if I had my own way, I wouldn't be here at all, but I can thank my parents for that.
Drew is still not here, for some reason that probably has to do with his sight. As I glance around the Remake Center at all the tributes, I silently fume at everyone involved in these Games. My parents, Drew, who was stupid enough to volunteer with sight problems, and my stylist, who has fitted me into this awful seahorse suit. I look absolutely ridiculous, not at all like the deadly, sexy woman that I'm going to show in my interview. The stylist said it is revolutionary and never seen before, a true "step ahead of its time". When I said I hated it, he told me he wasn't surprised I didn't understand it. I didn't have the right Capitol eye. I can tell the two of us are not going to get along well.
The tributes from Two are standing by their respective chariots, looking gorgeous in costumes somewhere between Roman gladiator and royalty, with delicate crowns on their heads that look reminiscent of the victor's crown. The cheering from outside the Center adds to the image of two gladiators about to fight for their lives.
Just then, the Careers from One arrive, drawing everyone's attention to them. Their bodies are adorned in tiny little jewels and nothing else, only enough to cover the indistreet parts and a few elsewhere. Tiger is covered in emeralds, true to his last name, and Tiffany in diamonds with a sapphire necklace. They look exactly what a Career should look like for the Parade; not like a bumbling seahorse.
As I sit and stew about my predicament, Drew finally comes out with his stylist. I quickly glance around to see if anyone has noticed anything. All of the tributes are watching; the Careers to size up their ally, and the others their enemy. But Drew is walking straight, with seemingly no problem. The escort told us that Capitolites are starting to suspect something from his arrival at the train station. Some were chalking up his awkward behavior to nerves, while others were convinced that his vision was worse than he let on at the Reaping. Regardless, she had said that our main goal now was to hide his blindness from others.
"How did it go?" I ask him lowly. He doesn't stop walking, seeming confused, and gently runs into one of our horses. The horse whinnies in protest. Drew hurries over to the sound of my voice and I grab him by the shoulders.
"Not well, I take it."
"They say the surgery will take too long to do before the Parade," Drew hisses, obviously upset.
"Well, that's just a couple of hours. You can pretend to see during the Parade, and then afterward no one will even know what happened.
"That's not all," Drew says angrily. The seahorse costume makes it hard to take him seriously, but I do my best. "Because all of this happened naturally, before we arrived at the Capitol, they're not sure if they can do it. They say it would be cheating."
"Well, you're not the first disabled tribute," I say matter-of-factly.
"This is serious!" he practically yells, drawing more attention to us than necessary.
"Whoa, let's keep it down-"
"Do you understand what this means? I might have to go into the arena blind! Blind!"
I grab him by the cheeks and move his face closer to mine, ignoring his whines of pain. "Less competition for me, blind boy."
Pixel Mackaby (15)- D3M
"Everyone, we head out in two minutes!"
I take a shaky breath, feeling my entire body shake. In two minutes, I will be displayed in front of the rest of Panem in a strange, ugly costume. Beside me, Tesla is completely still and expressionless. I try to emulate her emotionless demeanor, drawing in deep breaths.
I stare down at my outfit, composed of colorful wires trailing all over my body, bunched up in different placing to resemble clothes. I've never word anything aside from my school uniform and crappy second-hand clothes, but I can tell this isn't exactly fashionable. Tesla doesn't seem to care much, however. When I asked her what she thought about it, she answered with a curt, "gets the point across."
I notice that the tributes from Five are wearing black body suits that are lined with brightly colored lights. That could easily have been our costume, I think jealously as I watch them load into their chariot.
I can hear the screaming of the crowd from outside the Remake Center, the light voices of the people around us, the horses whinnying. One of our midnight black horses throws its head back, snorting impatiently. I can only hope it knows its course and doesn't start bucking wildly from all the noise. It's never happened before, but leave it to happen to me for the very first time.
I adjust the wire that are draped over my arms, feeling them stick to my sweaty skin. Nerves and fluorescent lighting are making me perspire excessively, probably ruining the makeup that the prep team has painted onto me.
"H-how do you f-feel?" I ask Tesla, trying to keep my expression as neutral as possible.
She glances at me. "I feel nothing. You should try it. The Capitol is intrigued by people who feel nothing."
The blunt answer sends me reeling. I haven't quite recovered by the time the door to the Center opens, and in pours a cacophony of sound. The horses start moving and the chariot lurches forward, pulling us out onto the avenue. The bright lights and screams of thousands of people make my head spin. I feel like I should cover my body from the eyes that are fixed on me, but I don't want to mess up the wires and reveal more.
The sheer amount of people is making me feel dizzy, like I might fall off of the chariot. I keep one hand firmly on the door of my chariot, staring up at the crowd. Our mentors said to smile and try to seem approachable, so I lift my other hand slowly and wave. I glance in front of the chariot. We're not even a third of the way to the Training Center. I suddenly feel faint, my vision starting to go white. My ears start to buzz, but I try to block it out. It's only a little while longer before we can get off these chariots and go to sleep. Even though I just woke up four or five hours ago, I'm suddenly feeling very sleepy...
Spool Nylon (12)- D8M
My costume is both hot and itchy, and I have to resist the urge to rip it off myself. I know that keeping a good image during the parade is important to the sponsors; they don't want to sponsor a tribute that isn't popular. But quite honestly, I'm not sure if it's possible to impress anyone in this mitten costume. Out of all the outfits that Eight has been stuck with, this has to be the worst.
Sock has been given a similar costume, though hers is a purplish color as opposed to my blue-gray, and slightly more fitted at the waist. My right arm and her left protrude from a giant thumb hole, our heads sticking out between the other fingers. I imagine we're the laughingstock of the country right now.
Sock's jaw is set in determination, waving at the crowd with her thumb-arm. I feel sweat slide down my back. I try to paste a grin to my face and wave the best I can. I hear various names being shouted, roses and fake victor crowns thrown at us as we pass. It's incredibly loud, and much slower than it looks on TV. It seems like we've being doing this for an eternity; the stands of people seem to be passing incredibly slowly. I listen closely to the names that are being shouted, disappointed that I don't hear my brother's in the jumble. I can clearly make out the Career's names several times, and a few of the others; even Sock receives some rose thrown her way, but no one seems to notice me. I silently fume while forcing myself to seem excited and starstruck, cursing my Tag for being so boring on-stage. But i'll change their minds in a few days. They'll see.
I glance behind us at the Nine tributes. They look ridiculous but somewhat presentable in stalks of wheat and prairie grass glued to their bodies, with a giant pink flower blooming over the girl's stomach. The grass crowns on their head look like a victor's crown from the distance. Ahead of us, the tributes from Seven are dressed in the usual tree costumes. The guy isn't waving at all, staring at the crowd with his hands balled into fists. I can't tell if it's from nerves or anger. The girl, however, is drinking in the attention, bowing to the crowd and even blowing kisses at them. Shouts of her name start to increase in volume and intensity, trinkets being thrown her way. It's clear to see who an outer-district favorite will be this year.
I try to loosen my face muscles and force a laugh, trying to seem overwhelmed with happiness. It's hard to see with the fingers around my face, so I do my best to show glee and excitement in case the cameras pick it up. I need these cheap points with the sponsors.
As our horses pluck onward, the Training Center comes into view. It's taller than any of the other buildings and even the giant stands, looming over us like the promise of death. I can't help but feel real awe in its presence. I can only hope it shows on my face.
Albert "Triple A" Anderson (13)- D9M
I think I'm doing pretty well in keeping it together for the Parade. I've decided I want to show how calm and collected I can be to the Capitol. Plenty of people like the bloodthirsty, raging tributes, but the smart sponsors must know that it's the intelligent ones that go far. Even though I'm only thirteen, I know I can win this. I just need to show them my "forest" side. Ellie always says that I'm nearly a different person in the woods. The voices of the forest calm me and keep my head on my shoulders. Maybe the arena will have a lot of trees. The thought puts a genuine smile on my face as I wave easily to the crowd.
Beside me, Zel is pulling out all the stops she has. She cups her belly with one hand and waves to the crowd with the other, ignoring me completely. I know she doesn't think I'm worth allying with. She might have well said it out loud. I can't say I blame her; I know we're all just trying to get through this; but she underestimates me. She may have her baby giving her extra fans, but I'll have an actual chance of winning.
The chariots gradually slow to a halt, which takes me by surprise. I blink rapidly a couple of times, trying to get used to non-movement again. Our chariot, as the ninth, is on the outward part of the circle, giving us a good look at everyone else and the gifts that are still being thrown to us. At the other end of the semi-circle, I notice the twelve chariot is looking surprisingly adequate, with a coal-inspired outfit made of of flowy material that blows behind them in the wind. The girl is wearing a diadem, her large hazel eyes staring up at the building.
A man appears on the balcony of the tall Training Center, easily recognizable by his white beard and short stature. I never thought I would see President Snow in real life. It honestly feels like a nightmare.
The crowd immediately quiets, whether prompted or simply eager for the speech, I don't know. Snow opens his mouth and the familiar voice echoes over the streets of the Capitol.
"Happy Hunger Games, my fellow citizens. During this most joyous season, we must remember the events that led to this occasion. War, death, victory. These are all recreated in the Hunger Games so that the sacrifice of our brave Capitol soldiers must never be forgotten. And our dear tributes, twenty-three of whom will give their life to their country- well, may the odds be ever in your favor."
He disappears from the balcony as mysteriously as he had come, leaving in his wake uproarious applause from the Capitolites.
The Hunger Games had truly begun.
Marjorem "Jo" Paella (17)- D11F
The Capitol isn't how I imagined it.
These people don't remind me of my parents. In their outlandish costumes, altered faces and thirst for blood, they're more like monsters. My parents love the Hunger Games, but I was thought it was because they didn't fully understand them, or the permanence of the tributes' deaths. I try to keep that in mind as we're pulled into the Training Center's stable area, the crowd behind us starting to chant "Happy Hunger Games!".
Tomas stands stiffly beside me, apparently keeping up his tough-man charade that he's had since the Reaping. I'm pretty sure it's not how he really feels, but it's not my business. He's made it pretty clear that he doesn't want anything to do with me. I guess it's a bad idea to get involved with anyone since only one of us will survive.
The door shuts behind us once all of the chariots are safely inside the building, and the tributes start climbing out. The couple from Seven gleefully rips their costume off of their bodies before their stylists can stop them. Some of the others who clearly had a better-executed concept strut proudly over to their mentors. One and Two are looking regal as always, and Five also look like futuristic, colorful astronauts, or possibly stars. Six's costume isn't the worst, covered in sharp sheets of metal, and neither is Twelve, in somewhat simple charcoal-themed, flowy outfits.
I like to think that our look went over well, too. The concept of a pair of birds that fly through the orchards isn't the worst one that Eleven has ever had. The feathers are itchy and the wings on our arms cumbersome, but hopefully we were memorable.
Seeder comes over to me as soon as she spots us, helping me down from the chariot. Chaff, the male mentor, helps Tomas, who immediately starts ripping the feathers and headpiece off of himself. No one reprimands him, though Chaff does chuckle a little.
"I think that went well," Seeder says. "The two of you are certainly not typical Eleven children, so your light skin will certainly draw more attention to you."
"I don't want too much attention," I say, uneasily watching the boy from Two take off his laurel crown, shaking out his brown hair. I can't help but imagine being strangled by those muscular arms. If the other tributes feel like I'm receiving special treatment from the Capitol, that would make me a target.
"Don't worry about that yet," Seeder says. "Just focus on your training now, and try not to seem neither weak nor strong, just somewhere in the mi-"
"Jett!"
Everyone's attention is suddenly turned to the boy from Five, who is struggling to run past us in his tight jumpsuit. A large black dog suddenly bounds into view, panting with his tongue lolling out. The boy embraces the dog with clear affection, the dog reciprocating with licks to his face.
"What is that, Caleb?" the Five escort shrieks. The dog is muddy and I can smell it from where I'm standing. I don't think the Capitolites are used to seeing animals how they naturally are.
"It's Jett!" the boy says defensively, standing over him protectively. It's a threatening sight; the boy's tall stature and strong body could certainly protect his friend if he wanted to. The tributes are dead silent as Caleb motions to Jett to follow him to the chariot, where his district partner is waiting, stunned. I've never heard of a pet following someone to the Capitol, but I guess there's no real way to know.
"It's disgusting!" The escort hisses, stalking away. The girl shambles after her, head down. Caleb curses under his breath, not looking at anyone else as he follows them into the Training Center. The dog is right on his heels.
Antonia "Attie" Montgomery (17)- D6F
The Careers are gathering around the Two chariot, whispering amongst themselves. I've always been a good eavesdropper, but anyone would notice me approaching in this costume. I rip the shards of metal off of my frame, not even wincing when one of them slices my finger open. I squeeze the cut with my opposite hand and watch the blood with fascination.
"Are you hurt?" one of my mentors asks me, his eyes droopy and colored red. I don't know where he's getting his morphine here in the Capitol. I only sold him enough for a few days yesterday, and judging by his shaking, he's used more than that. There must be cookers in the Capitol as well.
"Only a little," I say. "Don't worry about it."
That's enough to appease him it seems. He drifts back over to the other mentor and starts chatting with her lowly. I suck on my finger and watch the rest of the tributes. I notice Jason watching me and slowly extend my middle finger to him, making him huff and turn away. I know he could be a valuable ally in the Games, with his Peacekeeper training and all, but I can't stand being around him. He cares too much about right and wrong. I see him all the time around Six handing out clothes to the children and trying to get them off the streets, robbing me and the ring from clients and possibly more runners.
I would never ally with the enemy. I spit out the blood I've sucked into my mouth in the direction of the Careers as the idiots from Four waddle over to them. They look ridiculous in some seahorse getup, the girl practically dragging the guy over. Maybe he's starting to rethink volunteering.
The girl's eyes scan the crowd, pausing on the pair from Seven who both look big enough to handle a fight, and then on Jason and I. She seems more interested in Jason than anyone else. Interesting. It would be a shame if the Careers ask him to team up with them. That would mean I would have to kill him earlier than I would like, before he's dehydrated and hungry.
There's a sudden shout from the boy from Two, who apparently is already getting into fights with his teammates. They're whispering hurriedly again about something, but my heart is beating too fast to try to eavesdrop. I push down the small bubble of fear that burst inside me at the shout, closing my eyes.
Part of me knows i could never face Jason or one of the Careers head-on, but I know myself and my abilities, and I can't let any stupid fears make me start to doubt myself. I may not have physical training like Jason, but I'm the one who's had to survive on the street my entire life.
Tiffany Silk (18)- D1F
I've been waiting for this moment my entire life, and not that it's here, I can hardly contain myself. I tuck a blonde curl behind my ear and grin around at all of the other tributes. It's great to see everyone, and I imagine the Capitol is enjoying it too. I ride the wave of adrenaline from the Parade over to the Two chariot.
"Hey guys!" I exclaim as Tiger and I approach. "Love your outfits."
Our allies, Hadrian and Rufina, share a look. "Yours too, princess," Rufina says. "You look dazzling."
I have the feeling that she's mocking me, but I decide to take the high road and not rise to the bait. We're going to be allies in the arena, after all. "Thank you. I"m Tiffany and this is Tiger." I present my district partner to them, who certainly does look dazzling with an emerald-studded body. The green isn't only a play on his name but also brings out the green in his eyes. I touch the sapphire necklace that my parents gave me and hold back a smile. We truly had the best costumes tonight.
"We know who you are," Hadrian says roughly. "Where is Four?"
We all turn to watch the girl, Nicolette, help the boy, Andrew, off their chariot. He seems a little stunned. Perhaps the Parade has left him a little too overwhelmed. I hope not, seeing as we're going to be allies. We need to be prepared to face anything in our path.
Nicolette guides him over to us, dodging the tributes from Ten, who are cheerfully petting their horses in their generic cowboy outfits. "Hey," she says in a low voice as she reaches us. "This is… Drew."
"What's wrong with him?" Rufina asks immediately. Two certainly has a no-nonsense feel about them.
"I think you should tell them," Nicolette tells Drew, pulling him forward. He sighs, staring at the ground. I prepare myself for the worst.
"I'm blind," he mumbles.
"What?" Hadrian roars. Everyone in the Training Center whips around to look at us. Rufina shushes him and immediately starts in on Drew.
"What do you mean you're blind? Why the hell did you volunteer then?"
Drew looks up and his condition is clear now, eyes unfocused and staring at nothing. "I wasn't blind when I volunteered!" he hisses. "Just in one eye. For some reason the second eye is now gone."
"That was a stupid decision," Hadrian says matter-of-factly. "Even with just one eye."
"What do you know about it?" Drew snarls. "Everything you have comes from your victor brother! I bet you have hardly any talents!"
As the two commence an argument in the middle of the Center, I turn and sigh to Tiger. "I guess our allies aren't as strong as we hoped."
Tiger is staring right at Hadrian, apparently not hearing me. "Who is that guy? A victor's brother? Is he Cato's brother?"
"No, silly. His last name is Cato. His brother is Cassius Cato. Did you not read the notes I gave you about the tributes?"
"I was getting around to it," he mumbles, eyes still locked on Hadrian. It seems I'm the only sane person here, I think as Nicolette and Rufina attempt to calm the situation. Tiger hasn't been acting like his usual calm, collected self since the Reaping. Not taking notes on the tributes, not realizing Hadrian is Cassius Cato's brother… these things aren't like him. I wonder if being away from home is starting to take a toll on him. As for Hadrian and Rufina, both seem full of themselves. Drew is completely blind. Nicolette might be my only real competition here for the crown. If so, she'll be the first to go in the arena.
Rooker Holm (13)- D12M
The elevator ride up to our apartment is much shorter than I thought it would be. The Training Center is the tallest building in the Captiol, but we're flown up to the penthouse in less than thirty seconds, the motion hardly noticeable. The doors ding and open up to the most luxurious room I've ever seen, even more so than the train compartments. The ceilings are impossibly high, decorated in various crystal chandeliers that shed light onto velvet couches, plush rugs, a gigantic dining table, and a giant window with a view of the city. A few Avoxes stand in wait at the corners of the room, heads bowed.
"Welcome to your new home!" Effie exclaims, her heels clicking on the exposed parts of the floor. "Well, for the next week, anyway."
I let out a long breath and migrate to the window as Eryn strokes the soft material of the couches, which are curved around a flat-screen TV. The city is still alive, even though it's very late. The low buzz of activity can be heard even from here, the tiny ants of people going to and fro, dressed in spectacularly hideous Capitol fashion. A few blocks away, a large building is glowing with soft golden lights, hordes of people crowding around it.
"The Gamemaking Center," our mentor, Haymitch Abernathy, slurs from behind me. He's been drunk all day. "That's where they control your lives."
I gulp and turn away from the window. I've always known the Capitolites loved the Games, but seeing them celebrating our premature deaths makes me sick to my stomach.
"I think we made a good impression," Eryn says, sounding hopeful. "Our costume wasn't the worst."
"I think the stylists did a very good job," Effie bounces her head in agreement. "Everyone will know your faces, even if they don't know your names."
Everything Effie says is like a backhanded compliment, but I try not to take it personally. I know I'll need confidence to make it through the next couple of days. I need to show the Gamemakers that I can learn quickly and be creative.
The Avoxes bring us dinner, which Eryn and I eat quickly. Effie and Haymitch don't get along, so our meals as a team our slightly awkward. After another delicious Capitol meal, Eryn and I head to bed. Tomorrow is the day our skills will really be put to the test, and I'll have to show the other tributes that I'm not another bloodbath death.
Rowan Loukios- Gamemaker
It's never difficult to tell who the bloodbath deaths are. Younger tributes are always more likely to die, as are the tributes that are weak and afraid. As of now, I can identify about half who will die in the first battle of the Games. It's part of my job.
"Rowan, Bellona wants those popularity numbers in five minutes," Aelia peeks into my door, her silver hair easily recognizable.
"Alright," I say. "I'm almost finished."
Aelia disappears again. I give the numbers one last review before signing them. Skills, fear, size, these are the most important factors in determining who will die in the bloodbath. But when it comes to the rest of the Games, popularity took precedence over anything else. It's our job as Gamemakers to make sure the Games are entertaining, the tributes fascinating, and the victor worthy of their glory.
Outside my office, the main Gamemaking is alive with chatter and activity. Bellona stands above it all, surveying her hive as the bees buzz around with their work. On the giant screens, footage of the Tribute Parade is playing. It's mostly a success; some forgettable outfits as well as some memorable ones. The tributes this year will certainly be memorable as well.
I walk over to Bellona and hand over the file. "Thank you, Rowan," she says aloofly, sticking it under her arm. I know she's probably excited to read it, but she has to retain her composure in front of the others.
"Marcelle worked hard getting these from the sponsors, so make sure to thank her," I remind Bellona.
She gives me a sharp look, but eventually says, "Yes. I will. Is that the other matter you wanted to discuss with me?"
"Actually, it isn't," I take a deep breath. I'm still not sure if this will make for an exciting or disappointing Games. "Andrew de Luce, the boy from-"
"Four, I know," Bellona says impatiently. "Just tell me."
"Alright…" I mumble under my breath. "His right eye has lost its sight as well. We're not sure what caused it, but it happened on the train. What should we do? He's a Career, and-"
"We do nothing, then," Bellona cuts me off again. "We're not responsible for his medical conditions. Do you us scrambling to give Grizelda Weaver a C-section?"
"No," I say. "That's what I thought. But what do we tell the sponsors? They'll be angry if they bet their money on him only to realize when he's in the arena that he's blind."
"If the word gets out, let it. He won't be able to hide it during the Interview anyway." She points a finger at me. "Will you tell Marcelle thank you for me?"
"I… yes, I will."
So there it is! I hope everyone is satisfied with the costumes. I tried to use the ones that were suggested to me when everyone submitted their tributes, but if there weren't any suggestions I just came up with my own.
Now we're heading on to the training! I'm having some trouble figuring out what to do for the training chapter(s), so I'm leaving it up to you guys. I'm going to set up a poll on my profile with options that you vote for. Don't feel obligated to vote, but if you want to read it a specific way than please do so.
I'm not sure when I'll be able to update next, but the semester is over in a week, so hopefully a week and a half at most.
Thanks for reading!