Chapter 6.

"Attention all tributes, staff, and esteemed guests, we are now arriving at Capitol Central Station. We hope you enjoy your stay here and may the odds be ever in your favour. Please mind your step as you disembark," echoed a voice over the train's loudspeaker.

Eamon and Madeline hardly heard the announcement as they stared wide-eyed out the window of the train. Waiting for them on the enormous station platform – large enough for all 24 carriages the tributes would exit from – was a mad-packed throng of unfashionable oddities the likes of which the pair of them could have scarcely imagined in their most bizarre dreams. Eamon had trained and studied for the Games hard most of his life, but he was still just an 18-year-old boy, and there were some things all the preparation in the world couldn't ready him for.

"Bet you didn't know you already had fan clubs, huh?" smirked Nott. "Well don't sit there gaping at them like a pair of gargoyles you two, give 'em something."

The door opened with Vivian taking the lead and Nott following behind. Eamon put one hand on Madeline's shoulder behind her. During their stay here, he refused to allow her out of his or Nott's sight.

An explosion of noise and colour greeted them as they stepped onto the platform. Hoots rang out, cameras shuttered, and flags waved furiously. Eamon looked to his sides and groups of children, mentors and escorts were also stepping off the train just like them, and suddenly the realisation hit him that he was just one in twenty-four and that there would be plenty others just like he and Madeline. Some revelled in it, many were on the verge of tears, others appeared totally indifferent.

"Come now you two don't be shy," called Vivian back to them, snapping Eamon out of his thoughts.

They pressed on through the path that split the crowd towards a grand staircase. Madeline looked at most of the crowd like they had plague but was strong enough to manage a shaky smile and the occasional wave. A girl who looked more like a birthday clown than an actual person pressed for Eamon to shake her hand as he walked past. He balked slightly, before reluctantly taking her hand in his own.

If I survive this, I'm amputating that hand, he grimaced.

Eamon suddenly realised he was getting a lot more attention than those of the other Districts, only matched by those of the Career Districts further down the station.

"Hey Nott," he whispered back, "Why are so many people staring at me?"

"You're kidding, right?" Nott looked at him surprised. "There hasn't been a volunteer from District 9 since before you were born! You might not think it, but there's long-time fans of each individual District, rooting more for their success than the actual tributes. Everyone's more than likely a bit hopeful for District 9 to have another champion."

"And it didn't occur for you to tell me any of this in the past eight years?"

"You're gonna learn new stuff while you're here, mate. Stuff I couldn't have taught you before. Best get to grips with that quick smart or get left behind."

Alongside the other tributes, they headed up the staircase and into the blinding sunlight. Even Eamon was agape at what he saw. He'd seen it all on TV before, but this was something else entirely. Towers all around that looked more like spaceships than actual structures. Breathtaking fountains sculpted into shapes and patterns he could barely conceive, shooting forth the most brilliant baby blue water. Gardens displaying dazzling arrangements of orchids, and cherry blossoms whose coral-coloured glory lit up the sky and the ground around them.

"Very impressive isn't it?" smiled Vivian, noticing the two of them entranced.

"That's one word for it," said Madeline quietly. Eamon had noticed a change in Madeline ever since he had shown her Nott's Games. It had undoubtedly shaken her to the core, but perhaps that was for the best. She seemed to have a steely glint in her eyes that wasn't there before, and her words took on a firmer tone that he had rarely, if ever, seen back in District 9.

They stood in the shadow of the most gargantuan structure Eamon had ever seen. Other, similarly large skyscrapers surrounded but none so big as the Tribute Center he stared up at now. At least twelve stories tall (which he supposed made sense), it was draped in banners of red and gold adorned with the crest of the Capitol. Somewhere within that monumental mountain of marble and tinted glass were the apartments they would stay in, the training center and the boulevard located behind it used for the Tribute Parade.

As they waited for Districts 1 through 8 to head inside, Eamon tried to spot the Career tributes so that he could get to work on figuring them out, but to no avail. Eventually they entered the air-cooled foyer, leaving behind the irksome fanfare of the Capitol's public.

"Ah Vivian my dear, how are you?" said the handsome receptionist joyfully as they approached the front desk.

"Well you know, same old," reverting back to her familiar nervous persona. "Just us four if you please, Osman."

"Here you are," Osman handed her a card key. "Fingle is already up there waiting for you."

"Ah excellent. Let's not keep him waiting any longer then you three. He's a busy man."

Utterly bewildered by everything, they joined Vivian in the lift and headed up towards the ninth floor. For the third time that morning, Eamon's mouth hit the floor. To call their apartments lavish was an understatement. He'd been used to a certain degree of luxury, having lived in Victor's Village most of his life, but this was simply another level. The princely white tiled floor was polished to the extent that it was almost blinding. The walls and furniture were styled from many exotic and unknown materials and shaped so intricately it was difficult to follow their contours.

The magnificent view of the Capitol skyline however, was blocked by the portly figure of a middle-aged man with a receding hairline dressed in a simple black suit and tie, with a burgundy-coloured scarf around his neck.

"Oho!" he cried jovially, bouncing on the balls of his feet. "How good it is to meet you all finally! Vivian, my dear lovely to see you as ever," he walked over and gave her a quick kiss on the cheek.

"Friends, you may call me Fingle," he beamed. "I am to be your District Stylist for these Games and believe you me, the honour is all mine. This will actually be my first time as a Stylist for the Games but fret not! For that does not mean I am lacking in experience, oh no! I am simply keener to make an impression and if I am keen to make an impression, I guarantee you will most certainly make one!"

He bowed low and deeply before Eamon, "You must be young Master Eamon, my dear boy, I've heard so much about you. Absolutely spiffing, your Reaping was, truly! A look of determination that could turn the lordliest of lions lily-livered, I daresay."

Eamon had an insane urge to laugh and fall over.

Fingle flashed a brilliant smile at Madeline, "And you my dear, must be Miss Madeline. Oh my goodness, you look even more ravishing in person. It is a privilege, I assure you my lady," he said poshly, getting on one knee to kiss her hand. For the first time since Eamon had seen her at the Reaping, Madeline giggled.

"And Master Nott, incredible to meet you at last, tales of your trap-filled triumphs are legendary in my line of work."

"Let me guess, Zared's gone on gardening leave?" asked Nott, shaking his hand.

"Ah," said Fingle, looking uncomfortable for the first time. "I'm not currently at liberty to discuss the circumstances of my predecessor's absence. But for the sake of explanations let us go with yours and say that yes, Zared has gone on 'gardening leave'."

Nott looked at Eamon. They both had an idea of what 'gardening leave' would have consisted of for the previous District 9 Stylist. In the previous year's Games, the costumes for the District 9 tributes at the Tribute Parade had the words "WHO CARES? THEY'RE DOOMED ANYWAY" written in bold, red letters on them. Naturally, it was off-putting for a lot of sponsors, and the tributes both broke down into tears halfway through the parade. Yet somehow, they each received a relatively expensive sponsorship gift throughout the Games and Eamon remembered wondering if Ambrose LaFleur – the Head Gamemaker – had sent them by way of an apology.

Keen to move on, Fingle gestured towards two pretty girls standing in the hallway that Eamon had failed to notice until that point, "Meet Sylvia and Alexis, they will be your prep team for the duration, so that you can look your very best for tonight's Tribute Parade and of course, the pre-game interviews. Now, although I've had your outfits for tonight ready for some time, I've had to work overtime tailoring them as I only got your measurements yesterday. So, I simply must get back to work. I just wanted to come and meet you all, a venture that I can safely say was most worth it. So, I bid you farewell until tonight of course. Sirs, my lady," he inclined his head towards Madeline, who giggled again.

Once he'd departed, Alexis stepped forward, "So hi guys, it's nice to meet you" she said sweetly, causing Eamon to blush slightly. "We've got a long time before the Tribute Parade and you guys have probably had a really long couple of days, so if you just want to take some time to settle in, that's cool."

She called out into the kitchen and two people in blood-red suits, with their faces covered in red makeup and eyeshadow came running.

"These are your Avoxes, they're happy to attend to any needs you may have whilst you're here."

They don't look very happy, thought Eamon sadly. Nott had never liked to talk about Avoxes, but what he had told Eamon was bad enough. Essentially, they were slaves with their tongues cut out for prior misdeeds. Nott flinched slightly at the sight of them.

"Also, there's spare clothes in your rooms just down the hall and a shower at the end," she nodded to Eamon and Madeline.

"Oh, thank god," said Madeline, hurrying to her room without a second thought.

Well she is still just a girl at the end of the day, laughed Eamon to himself.

He had to admit it was a relief to get out of the same stuffy clothes they'd been wearing since the Reaping yesterday, even if it was just into a t-shirt and jeans. But he had neither the time nor the inclination to indulge in the comforts of the apartment.

"Alright, time to get to work," he said to Nott and Vivian, who were enjoying some unknown, exotic drinks in the kitchen. Nott rolled his eyes while Vivian just looked confused. "Viv, would you happen to have a list of the tributes for this years' Games?"

"Umm… y-yes," she stammered, clearly unsure of where he was going with this. "Escorts were sent a digital list to our personal organisers last night. Why do you ask?"

"Because… I want to see it?" said Eamon slowly, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

"Umm… of c-course. I'll go get it," she mumbled, looking at him like he was from another planet. She wasn't the only one, Sylvia and Alexis looked up at him from the corner of the room with a curious expression.

"Take a breather mate," said Nott. "You're going to run out of steam if you work yourself too hard."

"If I survive I can take all the breathers in the world."

"Yeah, if you survive."

Nott and Eamon looked at each other, with the rest of the argument playing out unspoken. They were saved any more awkwardness when Vivian came back into the room.

"I'll just put it up on the TV, how's that sound?" she said, with them following her into the living room as Madeline re-joined them, confused as to what was going on.

Vivian scanned her odd-looking tablet over a device attached to the oversized TV in the living room. Eamon took the remote control as the pictures of twenty-four children at their Reapings separated into twelve rows of two came up on screen. He instantly recognised his own and Madeline's as well as one or two from the train station. He fixated on the pair from District 1.

A 17-year-old girl with olive skin and platinum hair came into focus. The tag below her face read the name 'Jasmine Wilde'. Alongside her was a lanky-looking, 18-year-old boy with braces and a face that looked like that of a camel. His tag read 'Axel Costa'. Eamon moved on to District 2.

A pretty, 18-year-old girl with long, dark hair, faded green eyes, and a moon-shaped locket around her neck appeared on screen. Her name was 'Blair Lynch'. Next to her was a muscular 18-year-old boy with short, curly hair and a look in his eyes that disturbed Eamon slightly. His name read 'Landon Starr'. Eamon confused everyone (except Nott) by skipping District 3 entirely and moving onto District 4.

A picture of a tall, fit, 16-year-old girl with brown hair in a ponytail and tattoos of waves along the length of her arms came up. Her name was 'Hilda Blythe'. The 17-year-old boy alongside her looked very much like Eamon, surprisingly. If perhaps an inch taller and wearing a shark tooth bracelet on his left wrist. His name read 'Dennis Kessling'.

Eamon put the remote down on the lounge for a moment, inscribing the names and faces of the six children he'd just seen on the inside of his brain. He didn't know any of them; who their families were, what they liked, what they disliked, but none of that mattered. When he finally spoke, he uttered the one thing he knew about them.

"These are my enemies."

AUTHOR'S NOTES

- - If you're having trouble imagining what some of these characters look like, then know that I liken some (but not all) of their appearances to real-life actors or celebrities. For instance, in my mind President Bishop looks and sounds like Hugo Weaving. Nott looks like Josh Holloway, and Fingle looks like Hans Zimmer.

- I'd like to thank you for taking the time to reading and reviewing this story. It really means a lot!