Hey everyone! I hope you're doing well. I don't have an excuse for being so late with this chapter other than the holidays and being lazy. But here is the second to last chapter! Hopefully the last one will be here next week.
I've had some questions about the tribute applications for the sequel- please don't send them in until I post the official application on my profile. There will be some changes to the one I used for this story. However, you can go ahead and start writing things for your tribute's personality, family, things like that. remember, everyone can submit up to three tributes this time, and I will accept up to three applications for each tribute slot before deciding which to use. I will try to accept at least one tribute from everyone who submits :).
As for the sponsor points, I've decided I'm going to transfer 15 points to the next story for everyone who has over 50 points currently. If you have less that and would like to keep your points, just PM me before the next chapter is posted and I will keep them. The point in doing this is so that I don't keep 5 or 10 points for someone who isn't reading the story anymore and probably won't read the sequel. All of the names and numbers crown up my profile and make it hard to read xD.
And now for the chapter~
Spool Nylon (12)- Victor of the 77th Hunger Games
After being restrained to my bed for so long, it feels strange to stretch my legs. As I take a sip of my orange juice, I glance around the room. I know the Gamemakers and trainers are probably all watching me right now, just like they have for the past forty-eight hours, anxiously waiting to see if I'll lose it or become an easily manipulated victor. I know I'm going to have to walk the line between both, so I make sure to keep my expressions neutral and a little hostile, but my posture relaxed and natural.
I feel the cool orange juice fill my empty stomach as I finish the glass. They haven't let me had real solid food yet except for some soft bread, but anything is better than living on an empty stomach. I gingerly stand as the woman on the other side of the room continues to arrange syringes on the counter. She walks over to me wordlessly and grabs my arm roughly, injecting me with whatever substance is in the syringe. I wonder, not for the first time, if the Capitol is using these substances to control me in some way, but there's nothing I can do about it now. I wince as she injects me again, trying not to imagine the point of the needle sticking into my bone. I lick my lips nervously as I try to stay relaxed.
I just try to think about my family. I'll get to see them soon, get to hug my parents and run around the district with Tag and the other Sock Knights. As the youngest victor of the Hunger Games in history, my family will never have to want for anything. We'll have enough money to help out the other Sock Knights and anyone else that needs it. The district will be fed with the extra rations from the Capitol, and the Capitol itself will love me too. All I have to do is get through the next few days, and everything will be perfect.
A few hours later, the woman comes back and brings me a new outfit. It's pure white just like the one I'm currently wearing, but this own has silver buttons and is more tailored, obviously meant to be worn in front of others.
"What is this for?" I ask, but she ignores me as usual. "Am I going to my interview?"
"The interview is tomorrow," she says placidly. "Come with me now, and I'll take you to your mentors."
I can't help but grin. It's been so long since I've seen anyone but this woman, and I have no idea how much time has passed. A day? A week? I know better than to ask her; she won't give me an answer.
She leads me out of the room and into a plain white hallway, the walls completely bare like in my waiting room. Except at the end, I can see my mentors and the escort for District Eight sitting on a white couch. When they see me, Cecelia jumps up and runs to wrap me in a hug.
"We knew you had it in you, Tag," she says, sounding tearful. I can only imagine what it had been like to watch the children she had mentored die year after year. Now I'll have the same pleasure.
"Thank you, Cecelia," I say politely. I nod to the others, trying not to grimace at the escort, who is nearly vibrating with excitement.
"The first twelve-year old victor!" she squeals, doing a little dance. "Do you have any idea what this means, Tag?"
"As a matter of fact, I do. Now, is anyone going to tell me what the hell is going on?"
"Your interview is tomorrow. We're taking you up to your room for the night, and we'll prepare you in the morning. The interview is in the evening. I swear, Tag, you're going to be the most famous victor in history! Everyone is impressed with you, there isn't a person who is upset about you winning."
Except every other district. "That sounds great. Let's get on with it, then."
…
The District Eight floor is just how I remember it, as if I hadn't gone away for over two weeks. The only thing missing is Sock, chatting with Cecelia about the best way to build muscle fast, staring out the window at the Capitol citizens below, her presence always strong enough to know she meant business. My room is just the same as I left it, except a pair of pajamas is neatly folded on the chair beside the bed.
"Are you sure you don't want dinner before bed?" Cecelia asks uncertainly. "I know what they feed you right afterward. Wouldn't you like a real meal?"
"I'll eat tomorrow," I say.
"Alright then. Have a good night."
The door clicks shut. I walk to the window and stare down below. Just on the other side of this wall, looking out the sitting room window, is where I told Sock my true identity. She's the last person that will ever be able to call me by my real name. What's in a name, though? I ask myself. I still remain the same.
The night is restless. I knew I wouldn't be able to sleep, but I can't even lay down for too long without feeling antsy. Surely I'll get the prep for my victor's interview tomorrow, but I still can't help but go over it again and again in my head. Everyone will be fascinated with me- the youngest Hunger Games victor in history. I imagine most of the interview will revolve around that topic, but they'll also ask me about Seb, and about the tributes I killed. I'll have to watch their deaths on the big screen as they play the abridged version of the Games for me and the audience, while cameras closely catch my every reaction. I'll have to see Sock killed in the bloodbath, see every injury, every poisoning, every slow death. My main goal for tomorrow is to just seem unaffected, or at least proud of what I've accomplished.
After all, the Capitol isn't the only place that will be thrilled about my victory- District Eight is probably eagerly awaiting my return as well. My heart speeds up as I think about Tag and my parents, all waiting for me to return home.
I eventually fall into an uneasy sleep with my head pressed against the window, watching the never-sleeping city on the other side.
…
"Try and keep things light," Cecelia says as she straightens my suit jacket. It's reminiscent of the one from my first interview: the same deep purple color, but not as bright and sparkly, as if to make me look more mature now that I'm a murderer. They've also redyed the fringe of my hair back to purple as well, after it faded during the Games. It looks better than any time I've dyed it myself. They've styled it up in a way that the stylist said recalls the classic style of Finnick ODair, the youngest victor until I came along, but I don't know enough about Capitol fashion to notice it.
"Light? When they're talking about killing people?"
"You didn't win popularity through broodiness," she reminds me. "People like your humor. Be as clever as you want, but don't get upset if Caesar says something insensitive. He doesn't understand."
"He understands well enough," I growl, jerking away. "No one would care if Seb was serious during his interview."
"You're not Seb," Cecelia says sharply. "And it's not good to talk like that. Be fond if you want, but don't allude to someone else winning."
"Fine."
I know she's just trying to help me- she's been through this all herself after all. If I want to survive the rest of my life as victor, I need to listen to her advice. Still, the idea of Seb fading into obscurity as my own popularity rises is simply unacceptable. I know he'll likely have a following here in the Capitol for many years, but eventually he'll be forgotten like all of the other tributes who have fallen in the arena, a name only for the Hunger Games historians and strategists.
The walk to backstage is unnerving. I remember the last time I was here, when twenty four people crowded this narrow hallway, chatting and arguing and eagerly awaiting our turn. Now I'm alone, standing in a dark hall, listening to the sounds of the excited crowd on the other side.
"Is everyone ready to meet the victor of the 77th Hunger Games, our youngest victor ever?"
The resounding shout of approval that follows sounds like the whole Capitol has been stuffed into Flickerman's studio. I stick my chin out a little and grin with all my teeth as Caesar presents me to the audience. The visor lifts and I walk out onto stage, the dazzling smile still plastered to my face. I wave at the crowd and hope I don't come across as too stiff or insincere. As I sit on the plush chair after shaking Caesar's hand, I resist the urge to cross my legs or arms, wanting to appear open and comfortable.
"A very warm welcome to you, Tag!" Caesar bellows, his bright yellow wig bobbing. "Panem is so excited to see you!"
"I'm excited too," I say, smiling tightly once more before forcing the expression off my face and into another more natural one. "It's good to be back, Caesar."
"We're so happy to have you back," Caesar says, matching my serious tone immediately. "It's been a long journey, hasn't it?"
"Very long. And difficult."
Caesar nods gravely. "What do you think was the hardest part about your time in the arena?"
The audience is dead silent. I glance at down at the front row and catch Cecelia's eyes. She grimaces at me, burying her face in her hands. I swallow as I pretend to ponder over my answer.
"Well, living without the Capitol showers was pretty difficult. I'd gotten so used to them while I was here."
Caesar breaks into a grin and chuckles as the audience erupts into laughter. I smile more naturally this time.
"You definitely must be happy to be back then," Caesar says with a gentle smile.
"I actually haven't had the chance to use a shower yet, Caesar," I say with a wrinkled nose. "Only gross baths. I thought I was supposed to get whatever I wanted now that I'm a victor." I look over my shoulder as if at my support team behind the stage.
The audience laughs again as Caesar makes an overly dramatic sympathetic face. "Let's hope no one gets fired."
"No, no," I wave dismissively, grinning as I adjust my suit jacket. "They're just doing their job. I'll have lots of time for Capitol luxury in my life."
"That's right," Caesar nods gravely. "I bet District Eight will want you to return every year to mentor the new tributes. You might be younger than most of them!"
"And they'll have to listen to me no matter what," I say with a grin. "Can you imagine me mentoring two eighteen-year olds alongside Cecelia?"
The audience laughs at the image as the camera pans to Cecelia. She waves to the camera shyly and gestures for it to move away. I wave back and smile as if we're closer than we are.
"My mentors are one of the major reasons that I'm here," I say, trying to sound a little choked up and feel the mood of the room change. "Without the support before the Games and the gifts that they gave me, Seb and I would never have been able to survive for as long as we did."
Caesar nods. "Well, it was your own ingenuity that kept Sebastian alive. That deal with the coconut? You read that in a book?"
"One about the adventures of the Knights of the Round Table," I say. "But it didn't work as well as I hoped. It cleaned some of his blood, but it killed him in the end."
"You helped him the best you could," Caesar says gravely. "He won fourth place despite being poisoned."
His placement doesn't matter now that he's dead, I think to myself, but the Capitol doesn't care about that. "He was a fighter," I say. "District Seven must be proud."
"Well, you'll be able to meet his family on the Victory Tour!" Caesar says excitedly, as if he were the one who would going on tour. The audience claps and screams happily, thrilled as ever for more drama from their beloved victors. My Tour is bound to be more eventful than ever as the youngest victor in history. Still, I'm sure there will be districts who are unhappy about my victory. Districts One and Four for starters.
"I'm looking forward to it," I say, but I'm not sure if I'm lying. Seb's family might be grateful for trying to help him survive, but that won't bring him back. If anything, our meeting will be brief and awkward.
"As is the rest of the nation!" Caesar beams, then turns to speak directly to a blinking camera at the front of the stage. "Before we recap this year's Games, we have a very special video message from Finnick ODair, the ma to hold the title of youngest victor before Tag here stole it from under his feet."
I raise an eyebrow in surprise, but try to smile and seem excited that one of the most famous victors in history will be speaking to me. I follow Caesar's lead and turn to the large screen behind us. Finnick Odair's familiar face pops up, smiling and friendly as ever. He's in his late twenties now, but the stylists have obviously tried to highlight his youth with a longer haircut and a clean-shaven face.
"Tag Nylon," his voice echoes in the large studio. He points a finger at the screen in mock anger. "I must say I didn't see it coming at first. But when you killed the girl from One with your crossbow, I thought I might be worried. And I was right."
I know what he means. We both won our Games due to an expensive weapon gifted by our sponsors. Finnick's famous trident remains one of the most expensive gifts ever given in the Games, and while my crossbow wasn't near the same price, it surely must have raised some red flags in his head. But I doubt the audience will be able to pick up on that.
"At first I loathed to hand over my title to someone else. But I must confess," he shrugs. "I'm impressed. Keep up what you're doing, and stay yourself. I'll see you in District Four!"
He waves enthusiastically and the screen goes black. The crowd goes wild as the cameras closely take in my reaction. "He's very nice," I say. "But he's the last to have to give up the title. No one can be younger than me since I'm twelve."
Caesar laughs. "Very true. You won't have any challengers!"
Finnick is nice, but I imagine he can't be as nonchalant as he seems. He was the Nicolette Anderson's trainer, and I barely managed to kill her on the beach. He's most likely furious to have lost the victory.
But it doesn't matter anymore. We're the same stock now- victors. We can have a friendly rivalry, but nothing more than that.
After a few more questions and a handful more jokes, we're ready to rewatch the Games. I try not to stiffen up too much as the bloodbath begins with a gong, somehow starting much quicker than I expected. The boy from Ten is killed first by the girl from Two. His name and place shows on the bottom of the screen- Denver O'Casey- 24th. The battle continues in this way, capturing every bloody detail. I watch Sock disobey Seb and hide in a box in the Cornucopia. I tense up as I wait for the moment of her death. When it finally comes, it's unexpected. The brutish boy from Two opens the box and she lashes out, striking through his shoulder as he roars in pain. He slashes across her waist and continues hacking at her until I feel like i might throw up. The cameras don't leave anything to the imagination. So it was the guy from Two after all, not even one of the girls that I killed.
Beside Sock, the Capitoline girl from Eleven is being gutted as well. The boy from One axes the girl from Six after her ally shoves her into him. The blind boy from Four escapes with his ally, and Nikki escapes with her ally from Six after killing the girl from Two. I watch as Seb and I run away from the golden horn, all the way to the beach. We had no idea what was to come.
As the Games drag on into the full three hour run time, I find it harder to keep my face neutral. I watch as the girl from Three is torn apart the mutts that chased me to the beach for the finale, as Nikki and her laly kill the girl from Seven on the beach, and the girl from Five throw down the boy from Two, Hadrian, and leave him paralysed at the foot of the mountain. Seb and I wander aimlessly, apparently not doing much from the viewer's perspective. I watch us argue and the ensuing disaster with his poisoning. I watch as I poison Sock's killer, his ally eventually leaving him for dead. Maybe I did avenge her after all.
I realize that I was very lucky. The Careers were not a cohesive team this year, after losing two of their members to other alliances and the ridiculous fight between Tiger and Hadrian, there was practically no chance that they would come out on top. Tiffany and Nikki almost best me at the end, but at that point it was too late. It's uncomfortable to watch my own ascent to victory due to the failures of others. Regardless, I need to seem proud and confident. When Seb dies, I allow myself to turn away from the screen for a few moments, but I don't even feel sad anymore.
The only thing that really disturbs me is the descent of the girl from Ten into madness. I thought she was crazy at the time, but I saw that dark figure as I was about to win the Games, and apparently the two Careers girls I killed saw it too. If Filly was doomed to die from the start, perhaps I did her a kindness by killing her quickly. I shiver as the camera shows the figure on the mountain as Nikki and I battle for our lives, eventually ending with my arrow through her throat. I try to smile naturally as the screen goes black again and the lights turn back on. I face the audience again and mouth thank you at them, trying to sport a grateful smile. I'm not sure what I'm thanking them for, but it seems like the right thing to do. They enjoy it immensely, cheering and clapping louder than ever.
"You already have your own cult of followers," Caesar grins once the noise dies down.
"I'm so grateful to everyone," I say. "Especially those who sponsored me."
The studio erupts into laughter, but it isn't a joke.
"I'm sure you are," Caesar beams. "And they're grateful that their gifts paid off. Four kills as a twelve-year old, three of them eighteen! You're going to leave a spectacular legacy, and it's already begun!"
The audience cheers loudly. That will make a nice sound bite. But Caesar's got one thing wrong…
"I didn't kill Hadrian all by myself," I say. "Sock was the one that injured him. And that girl from Five- Amelia?- she did him even one better. All I did was scratch him with a venomous fang. I think they she get the credit."
"You're a very generous victor," Caesar says with a twinkle in his eye. "But I imagine it was satisfying to avenge your fallen ally, Sock, was it not?" The gleam in his eyes brightens. He leans forward as if to hear the details of my bloodlust for the District Two brute.
"I didn't know Hadrian had killed Sock when I scratched him," I say nonchalantly. "He was only trying to win like everyone else. He was a survivor, like Seb."
The comparison isn't an accurate one, I know. Seb volunteered to save his girlfriend's brother, and Hadrian did it to kill children. But I watched him in the Games, experiencing injury after injury, barely keeping his head above the shadow of Tiffany and his victor brother. He wasn't exactly the heartless killer that he made himself out to be.
The audience doesn't know how to react to that. It's not bloodthirsty or sweet or bitter. Maybe it's a little too real for them to comprehend, with their colored hair and brows and faces drawn tight against their skulls.
"Well, that's a just comparison," Caesar says with a smile. "They both scored ten, after all. And you killed two of them with just a score of eight! Not just a high score for a younger tribute, but also an outer district. District Eight certainly has a right to rub it in District Four's faces after you stole Mr. ODair's title!"
I smile evenly. "Seb was my ally, and he was very strong. I couldn't have made it without him. I owe him my life."
"And he would be proud," Caesar said solemnly.
I nod slowly. "He told Sock and I once that he wanted to help us because he had killed before, and he didn't want us to have to experience that. But in the Games, he didn't kill anyone and I had to do it. He wouldn't have wanted that."
"But he was proud of you, still, I'm sure," Caesar says with certainty. "Four kills with your age and training score is a huge number. And if he didn't win, he would have wanted you to. Don't be so hard on yourself. Am I right?" he asks the crowd loudly and they make noises of sympathy. Perhaps I should be glad that the Capitol is so supportive of me, without any resentment that I killed their favorites. But they're so fickle that I'm sure they would turn on me in a second. I'll never be safe again, even surrounded by so-called friends.
The interview ends after I show Caesar my decided talent- making and putting on puppet shows. I thought the mentors were joking when they first told me about it, but as I hear the excited coos from the audience as I talk about my supposed passion for it, I understand their choice. I have experience with puppets from my time with the Sock Knights- some of Eight's citizens will pay for a temporary escapade from this world to the child's world of puppets- but most victors have a more mature, productive talent. This one accentuates my youth as well as my skill for creating and being charismatic. I don't doubt that I'll have to put on shows for adoring Capitol citizens as they become seriously emotionally invested in my puppets.
"I can't wait for everyone to meet the Sock Knights!" I grin to the crowd. "I'll need their help to put on a performance. I'm sure you'll all love them!"
Caesar and I say our goodbyes soon after that. The interview is over before I even realize. The lights shut off as an Avox hurries on stage to usher me away. I turn to Caesar, wondering as I have many times before if he actually cares about the winners or is heartless like the rest of them, but he's already talking avidly to someone else.
Backstage, my prep team is chatty as they de-Capitolize me, full of praise for my stage presence. They say I held the audience's attention and even made them cry when I talked about Seb. One of them actually wipes away a tear as if he had ever felt true sadness in his life.
"Everyone is just obsessed with you, Tag," another gushes as she washes my hair. "I'm not exaggerating when I say you'll be one of the most famous victors in history. What a Games! What a performance! You should be proud."
"Proud of killing?" I snap, unable to take it much longer. A hush grows over the room. They silently finish undressing me and leave with small murmured goodbyes. Perhaps I shouldn't be so harsh with them. If I was born in the Capitol, would I be any different?
Instead of leaving to go meet my escort, I walk to the window and stare out into the bustling city. I never thought I would see it, and now I'll have to return each year to mentor a new pair of tributes, watch them die bloody violent deaths and pretend to be excited.
I slip the bandanna that was my token in the arena out of my pocket, turning it over absentmindedly in my hands. Despite everything, I'm glad I did what I did. Tag wouldn't have made it in the Games, no question. Between his asthma and his fear of anything dangerous, he would have gone down in the bloodbath with Sock. Even if I died, I wouldn't have regretted it. I take a deep breath and puff out my chest a little. When I return home, I'll need to be brave and confident for my family. They've worried enough about me in the past weeks.
Bellona Presque (25)- Head Gamemaker
My first Hunger Games have been completed. And what a Games they were- the first and only twelve-year old victor, beloved by all and with a strong kill list that would make any Career envious. It couldn't have gone better.
Well, a little better. I grimace. The Career drama was engrossing at first, but became tiresome after a while as the pack slowly dwindled. Many of the strongest tributes were incapacitated in the first week. While Games like that can be exciting for the audience, it also leaves them without any powerful contenders for the crown, as the number of violent battles decreases. While we certainly had some memorable ones, there were also a great deal of action droughts.
Still, I'm proud of everything that I've created, piece by piece of the arena, day by day of watching the screen as I play puppet master. Hearing the praise from the late night shows that review the day's events in the arena, commending the mystery and deadliness of the environment and the actions of the tributes, was like experiencing the best high in my life. All of the adoration for my first victor, my beloved Tag Nylon, was a degree away from adoration for me, the real puppet master.
As my driver takes me back to my villa for the first time in weeks, I realize I probably won't be able to sleep anyway. Maybe I should have stayed at the Gamemaking Center again, conversing with the other Gamemakers and sponsors, watching the coverage of the Games on the television. The knowledge that I orchestrated my first Hunger Games is still singing in my blood, too loud to ignore. I held twenty four lives in the palm of my hand, and only released one.
But I know I need rest for tomorrow's schedule. A meeting with President Snow followed by a televised interview with Caesar Flickerman. Not to mention we already need to start preparing for the return of Tag Nylon to District Eight, and after that the Victory Tour. And next year's arena isn't going to finish construction by itself…
Despite the exhaustion of my job, I love it. I wouldn't have chosen any other career in the Capitol, even as a politician or television host, something with theoretically more power. Gamemaking is a high like nothing else, it's victims and consequences set out plainly for everyone to see.
As the car nears the Gamemaker Square, I can't help but feel disappointed to see that most of the houses have taken down their lights and decorations for the Games. Tomorrow after my interview, the Gamemaking Center will shut off its golden lights as well, officially signalling the end of the season. People will still tune in to watch Tag Nylon reunite with his family, and eagerly await his Victory Tour, but it's still a sad thought.
It will come again next year, I think to myself as my driver opens the car door for me. I step out and brush off my white dress. I don't spare him a glance as I continue up to the villa. An Avox is already waiting for me outside, not shivering despite the cool night air. She keeps her head bowed as she opens the door for me.
"Did you keep everything clean like I asked?" I ask sharply as I step inside. She doesn't answer, of course. Inside, the lights are already on, which isn't strange in itself considering she and possibly other Avoxes are here, but I can hear chattering in the sitting room. I frown as I quickly move toward the noise.
"What is the meaning of this?" I demand. Three figures are standing in my lavish sitting room, watching Tag's interview with Caesar on my television. One of them turns quickly, and I relax when I see it is Rowan, my head statistician. But my breath catches in my throat as one of the other figures turns, revealing a white beard and sharp blue eyes.
"We have a problem, Miss Presque," says President Snow.