Welcome back readers to another installment of 'Unlikeliest of Victors'. I hope this update finds you in good circumstances and that 2017 is treating you well.
This chapter is one of the longer ones, but lots of important things are inside. I hope you enjoy it!
14
Dinner that night is a subdued affair. There's little conversation to be had between myself and Chris. Our mentors are mostly silent as well. Aquilina, oblivious to the fact that Chris seems to hate her whereas I tolerate her, goes on and on about stories from different years of her escorting duties and the wondrous things we can expect as beneficiaries of Capitol hospitality.
I still have no appetite. The food's excellent for sure, but I have to force myself to eat again. Perhaps a little bit of rue from the greenhouse would do me some good...
That thought trails off and the prospect of being put into an arena with her ruins my appetite completely. It sickens me that such a tiny thing could be plucked from her home and sent to die. Forget my reaping, how does the Capitol justify tearing away someone that young and killing her?
I think Flint is getting sick of listening to her because he finally silences her by turning on the TV and telling us to watch the Reaping. We've missed the montage of us leaving our district but Caesar Flickerman, the Master of Ceremonies for the Games, announces that the uninterrupted footage from today will now be showed for all of those who missed the full coverage earlier. He announces he'll be back with Claudius Templesmith, the official announcer of the Games, for a complete commentary.
There's a cinematic introduction followed by the anthem and we are in District 1. District 1 is always full of volunteers and this year they don't disappoint. This year's volunteers are Glimmer, a girl with blonde hair and emerald green eyes bounds up to the stage, her outfit short and designed to show off her body. I'm tempted to write her off but refuse to. She may look beautiful on the outside but with the ferocity with which she volunteers, Glimmer Belcourt is a someone who's not to be underestimated.
Marvel Sanford, the male tribute is admittedly, a little bit of a surprise. He's not as muscled as others I've seen before and he displays a laid-back, carefree attitude about his choice, perhaps this is all for the cameras though but with his height (I think he's shorter than Thresh) comes and weight comes a definite advantage that he'll press in the games. Because he is a career he's someone I need to watch out for.
There's a transition into District 2. When they cut to the potential tributes they showcase a very long sequence of shots. They're all well fed, well built, and eagerly awaiting their own shot. When they announce the female Tribute a chorus of shouts drown out their escort. One girl, Clove Kentwell, is selected from the 15-year-old girls and takes the stage with a cold glint to her eyes. The small plot dedicated to growing Cloves in the greenhouse is supposed to relieve toothaches but this girl looks like she would rather remove your teeth one by one. Her eyes are especially piercing when framed against her black hair done in a braid.
When their escort announces the Male Tribute, he's drowned out by a roar from the Male Tributes. Each one is raving to get into the arena. To them, to the people of District 2, the Games are a matter of personal honor. I've seen this scene many times but it frightens me more so than the others knowing that this time, I'll be going up against them. No wonder the Capitol goes for them.
Of course, the boy who they pick is an utter brute. He's slightly shorter than Marvel but he makes up for it with well-muscled, powerful arms and a robust stature. He clearly hasn't missed a meal in his life. His short, spiky blond hair and blue eyes complete this specimen who looks at the other guys and dares them to fight him for this chance. Cato Hadley is probably my biggest threat alongside Clove. He looks at the camera and gives a fierce grin.
Even though we are miles and miles apart, the sight makes me retreat into the comfort of the couch in the train that we've all moved to. I'm sure his mentors will be congratulating him at this moment.
"You're going to keep an eye on this one." Flint warns. "He'll give the Capitol a show for sure."
We move on to District 3. Daria and her partner Noah don't strike me as particularly noteworthy tributes. Both of them look a little on the scrawny side. Unless there's some special skill that both of them are hiding. I can determine that when we are in training.
District 4, doesn't have as enthusiastic a crowd this year. There isn't a habit of volunteering here but the tributes usually perform well enough. The camera gives a long glimpse at Finnick Odair, a popular victor, sitting on the stage. His face is unreadable other than he looks exhausted. There's a beautiful shot of the Justice building and the ocean beyond. Marina and Nemo. They both look confident enough but Nemo, the male tribute is the shortest 12-year-old I've ever seen in my life. Being reaped in his first year of course reminds me of Rue, Primrose and Persephone and another wave of anger closes my fists.
"First year tributes are the worst. I hope there aren't more of them." Flint sighs knocking back a glass of what has to be something alcoholic. I don't have the heart to tell him about the later tributes.
It is our turn. District 5's seal is shown and the cameras do a nice pan around. You can see the Marius plant off in the distance and the town of Edison. The Public square is jammed with people. I spot myself in the crowd almost at once. It's so weird to see my friends on television with me.
My name is called up and it feels strange and out of body to watch myself get up there. I watch myself intently. If anything I look more calm than scared which brings relief to me. Excellent. I've shown myself to the public and other tributes who are surely watching this to not be so easily cowed or frightened. All I need to do is lay low and let others draw attention to themselves.
I notice there is a lot more discontent in the crowd than I thought. Some people, mainly some of the people who were in the dam, are visibly angered.
All of the emotions surge back. It's getting harder not to show them, but I'm determined to not let Chris see me cry. So, I swallow a thick lump in my throat and drink some water.
Chris is called up and we shake hands. Seal. Close. Cut to District 6.
I'm nervous to see the Reapings for six. Privately I've wondered whether the Capitol has punished them for the cell of Rebels that tried blowing up the Dam. The camera fades in on the Justice building which is a sleekly designed building that evokes some of the aesthetics of the trains and hovercraft. I notice the cameras intentionally don't focus on the people in their opening sequence which only increased my worry.
When they do finally cut to the crowd I scan it and observe that everyone shares a tired and worn down look. Besides from producing the vehicles that move Panem around (mainly the Capitol) the District also produces most of the drugs that the Capitol refines and turns into medicine. It's a well-known secret that this District abuses some of that and a morphling addiction is a persistent problem seen in the yellowing faces of some of the people. They've never really looked underfed but there are clearly ribs showing on more than few people while others sport bruises and other marks of abuse. The camera tries to hide this again, but it's impossible to hide it from the observant eye.
Of all Districts, District 6 is technically, all other factors aside, the least likely District to win. Nobody works in a trade that emables one to become skilled in a way that will give them an advantage. Despite this, their tributes are persistent and, provided they live long enough lives, become major thorns in the sides of the surviving players.
Tamora Blair and Jason Fordham are the unlucky names picked this year. Tamora breaks down on stage but the audience looks too downtrodden to do anything. I've never seen such a group of people looking so miserable and broken, not before in the other Reapings I've watched.
What did the Capitol do to these people?
The rest of the night becomes a blur as I ponder this question. I can't help but feel I'm somehow responsible even though the Rebel movement from Six formed of their own accord. All I remember is the rest of the names. Annika Burton and Ansel Davies are reaped from Seven, Megara Willows (who Chris swears could be my sister because of her hair which is a rich deep red shade completely different than my fiery red) and Tobias Weavers from Eight, Alishka Conley (Chris now insists that she actually looks more like my sister than Megara because her hair is more red than the former's) and Rico Silas from Nine, Anna Oakridge and Luis Salvador from 10.
And suddenly we're back in District 11 where I witness both Rue and Thresh's reaping. Cynthia laments that yet another first year Tribute has been brought into the games. Even Chris, as unconcerned with the other tributes as he is, makes several choice comments in disgust. Everybody in the car at least agrees that Rue and Nemo deserve better. Cynthia expresses concern that Thresh could be an issue for us during the games. She says this in a way that suggests that she wants to get our minds off the reaped twelve-year-old tributes. I don't have the heart to spoil what's next.
For the second time I watch the drama unveil in District 12. Primrose is called up again, Flint nearly hurls a glass to the floor in a rage when suddenly Katniss is there again. Screaming Prim's name, volunteering herself desperately. It silences the profanity streaming out of his mouth and he's left open mouthed.
"Why's she doing that?" Chris asked utterly perplexed. "She's nearly out of the Reaping! Why throw yourself in there?"
"Would you rather have another 12-year-old in there?" I ask coldly.
He grits his death as he sees that answering either way would look bad. In mute silence we watch Peeta being called to the stage where both Tributes shake hands, Haymitch Abernathy falls off the stage (I somehow missed this part earlier), and the screen cuts to Caesar Flickerman who's having a conversation with a few other important Capitolites to discuss what they've seen from the reaping.
"The whole world will be watching her now." Cynthia says quietly when Flint flicks off the TV.
"They will be." Flint agreed. "You got to have guts to do something like that. She's another tribute to watch. I've seen enough to know now that she's and the boy from 12 have a fighting chance this year. Be careful." He slurs slightly.
"Did you see Haymitch at all?" Cynthia asks.
"It was impossible to miss him. At least he's alive. Think I might teach him a couple new drinking songs when we get to the Capitol. It's been a long time since I've actually had a decent time getting drunk with someone."
Cynthia sighs and dismisses herself to bed after bidding us good night. Aquilina who's been observing the proceedings makes a few remarks how she has high hopes for us and if we need anything, to let one of the staff know. Before long, she too totters off to bed.
As for me? I'm still glued to this couch.
"Why would she do that?" Chris asks again.
"Love." I say somewhere between a snap and an aggravated comment. "I would have done the same thing if my sister were reaped."
"Then they're both lucky that they have suicidal siblings." He grunted. "I have nobody who loved me enough to do that."
I observe a twinge of sadness in his last comment and I feel guilty about snapping at him. Part of me wants to pursue that conversation, but hesitates against it. Chris hasn't exactly been the most excited to open up about himself. I'm still pretty sure I'm on his hit-list anyways.
"I'm off to bed as well." I mutter finally finding strength when Flint starts quietly swearing up a storm about Rue and Nemo being reaped.
"Fine. Flint and I will keep each other company." He says not really caring.
"Sleep well. You're going to need it." Flint remarks.
As it soon turns out, Flint is absolutely right.
As soon as I'm in my room and I see my purple dress. I un-blacken the windows in the hopes of seeing something familiar but darkness has enshrouded us and I can't make out anything. I grasp the purple dress which smells distinctly of home and I recall all the events of the day. It's a punch to the gut and it becomes hard to breathe as all the emotion I've pent up all day comes out in a torrent.
The dam, which has been crumbling slowly under the weight of tears, bursts open again and I wail and sob into my pillow. It doesn't matter that I have a game plan and a strategy ready to put to use, all my efforts of preparing for the games emotionally have been in vain. It's one thing to prepare for the unlikely chance that you'll be reaped, it's another to actually be reaped.
Someone has pulled a few strings and I've been given a death sentence. My nightmares are coming true. I will join Julia as I'm pulled from my family, my home, and what few friends I have. I don't care what Snow says anymore. He promised in my grandfather's office not to lie to me and I'm here because of a rigged piece of paper, on a ridiculously luxurious train being sent to the Capitol to look pretty before the Capitol forces me to confront people that want to kill me. Who could do such a thing? Consciously meddle with the reaping system and rig it so that Finch Emerson will die? Snow? Someone with a bone to pick with me?
Each one of these thoughts punches me and I hurt everywhere.
I realize that it was a mistake to watch the Reapings and listen to the names of all those people being called up. It makes the tributes all the more human and that much harder to think about killing. The idea seems so much more horrible now, yet they'll have no qualms about killing me as savagely as possible.
I hate the Hunger Games. I hate the Capitol. I hate Snow.
Eventually all my wails are gone and emotion gives way to exhaustion which gives way to sleep. My nightmares that night are filled with the images of tributes, my home, President Snow, and various arenas all combining in twisted combinations. I awake several times that night in a blind panic before succumbing to more tears and sleep.
By the time morning pierces through the windows of the train I am exhausted from anything but a restful night. I already feel like I'm dead internally but do a self-inventory. I've patched up the dam momentarily but who knows how long before it breaks again. However, with my emotions out of my way I'm able to think with more clarity than last night.
'Who wrote Finch Emerson?' Becomes the questions that permeates my thoughts this morning as I struggle to go through some sort of morning routine.
I don't want to think about that question and try to admire the wide open valley that we are passing through. The train is in District 1 Territory right now. At some point our track will meet up with the other tribute train tracks and we'll approach the Capitol from the Southwestern Tunnel. There are of course faster routes but I suspect that the route this train takes every year is supposed to prevent us from arriving too early. My brain, curious as it is, refuses to watch the scenery anymore and begins to think.
Yesterday's reaping of Finch Emerson proved that someone tampered with the Reaping. The feelings of betrayal reemerge but I'm too tired to care that some party, for unknown motives and reasons, put me in. Assuming Snow kept his word (which is a huge assumption), that meant that I would have only been reaped by regular luck. Perhaps the President wanted to throw me off tracks by putting Finch Emerson in?
"This day is yours to celebrate. Why should I kill the person who saved a District?" his words whispered to me.
Why would Snow want to kill me? He wanted me in the Capitol for any number of reasons, probably to have as an asset. With me more or less under his eye he wouldn't have anything to fear from me. Knowing myself, there would be no questions of disobedience.
So what about me living in the District? He had said that I could prove valuable with my intellect there just as much as the Capitol. Did he somehow I think I wouldn't be as obedient? Sure, I would be resistant to send any children of mine into the games, but I would abide the law. I'd rather live under the Authoritarian yoke than be at the mercy of a world without any sort of government. Some government, any government, was better than no government or one ruled by anarchists like the rebels who attacked the dam.
Was I somehow a threat to Snow if I wasn't under his eye? I wondered.
The answer felt like it should be yes, but how? I suppose if he knew about all my reading in the manor he would say yes because I would know the truth about Panem, about Snow, about this perception of the 'way things ought to be' that the Capitol force fed the Districts. I've read enough to know that suppressing information was one of the best ways to keep a populace in line whether it be false information, teaching incorrectly at a young age, or maintaining a monopoly on information itsself. Perhaps Snow was concerned that with my intelligence I would begin to see the flaws in the system. He already knew to an extent that I did.
"All I ask, whether you say yes or not, is that you continue to support the delicate balance of District and Capitol which I think you more than most of those living in your District would understand."
Did he know about my secrets in the library? Why allow me to live so long then? Clearly he understood in some way that I knew more than most.
Well he's right about one thing. I saw, as the mayor's granddaughter that the system isn't perfect. I saw that first-hand when I visited the Shadow years ago. I learned that even more when I discovered the reams of illegal material in our library that I used to expand my concepts of what was truth and fiction. The President, for all of his supposed care for the populace, cared only for power like so many other evil men and women in history.
I am a threat to Snow I realize horrified.
My intelligence, the very thing he wanted from me, could cause serious damage to the system. I do understand more than most that if I could somehow I were to share or divulge any of the information I had in my brain, then I could easily start an uprising of a sort. The truth does set people free after all. A spark, if not contained, can easily start a fire.
But I'm no rebel! I'm an introverted fox-faced girl. Did Snow think I was in league with insurrectionists, terrorists who would have killed my grandfather and unleashed our industry upon Edison?
That possibility worries me, but the more I think about it, the more likely it sounds. If he thought I was in league with the rebels, it would have been a perfect excuse for me to run back to the dam. Perhaps he thought I was disenfranchised when they threatened to blow up the dam. Perhaps he believed I was in league enough with them to get into the dam without much scrutiny and disarm the bombs before setting the hostages free rather than simply using stealth to get in. The worst part was that he he had no camera system to prove or disprove that theory, the rebels had taken it down when they attacked.
That moment I chose to run away from Peacekeeper forces and take action into my own hands was a rebellious action of a sort. There wasn't any sort of hubris in that decision though; I just knew that the Peacekeepers approach wasn't going to end well for anybody and I thought that maybe I could do something. It certainly wouldn't help my case that I was received much more enthusiastically than Snow himself when the President came to District Five.
"Let's agree here and now that we shouldn't lie to each other." Snow had said.
Well, in his eyes, I most definitely wasn't straightforward with him. Perhaps he was under no contract to be honest with me if I didn't prove to him my honesty first. No, it wasn't a good thing to surprise the President. Now I'm sitting on what could very well be a one-way trip to the Capitol as a result.
Why would the President kill me? I imagine Snow couldn't do it openly because that would ignite an actual uprising. Could he stage an accident? Too much suspicion would be drawn and there were too many variables at stake. The Games though were a legally sanctioned tool he could use to silence the girl who refused the Capitol's offer, who threw a generous offer back in its face.
In that moment I can breathe easier. The questions are reduced to simple answers. I'm here to die. With Snow behind this my life can only be determined by a number of days.
Even if I were to win, I would once again be the recipient of the Capitol's generosity - this time without my choice in the matter. I only needed to look at Flint and Cynthia to see that they lived a life I didn't wish to have. Once a year I would be dragged out with every new Tribute. It's not like I could refuse the terms of my new life as Victor. To throw this offer back in the Capitol's face would only provoke Snow more. Winning would be the final shred of evidence that I am a rebel, that I refuse to let the terms of my life be dictated by authority. No, winning in these games is not an option.
I imagine back home my Grandfather is launching a furious investigation into the process desperately trying to unveil some piece of information to prove that someone else did it, even if someone did, why would the Capitol bother? They have their tribute and she must die.
I think back to the promises of yesterday that I made. It looks like I won't be coming home after all. I'm saddened by the names and faces of people I'll likely never see again.
In the distance I catch a glimpse of a mine with a small village surrounding it. I muse about the possibility of hiding out there for the rest of my life, but I know that that's a fool's gambit. Sooner or later I would be found, I would be imprisoned, and I would be executed.
I turn over on my bed and feel something pressing into me. Curious, I pull out my lavender dress and inside one of the pockets remove the wooden carving of the fox. Trouble maker, tricky, sly, elusive, intelligent.
Well that settles it. I will become Foxface. My strategy will remain the same, to live as long as possible, but at the same time I'll look for a way to send a message to the Capitol that I will not go quietly to my death but I will resist it until my last breath. Snow thinks I'm a rebel? Then he'll have a rebel in principle and morality. I will not kill. I will hide. I will refuse to play these Games on his terms. Every game has rules and loopholes that I could exploit. All I would need to do is find option number three.
Inexplicably I'm drawn to the tributes. There are so many who don't deserve to die as well. Maybe I can help a few out so that at the end they will live. Rue, Nemo, Katniss, who volunteered for her sister? They deserve a second chance at life and I'm determined to do everything in my power to help.
The emotions from last night disappear just like they did before I made the choice to run into danger at the dam. The logical course of action lays itself ahead of me. All I need to do is act accordingly.
With this in mind, my exhaustion disappears, an invisible weight is lifted from my shoulders, and my appetite returns with a vicious ferocity.
In the reflection of the mirror I see that my hair is wild and unkempt from a night full of tears. I get up and shower and put on a dark blue-green shirt with black athletic pants, brush my hair and put it up in a bun like I normally do before work. I suppose this in fact the last job I'll ever do.
Flint and Cynthia are in the dining car waiting for me. Flint seems a little hung-over from yesterday but he's mentally active and frowning.
"Sleep well?" Flint asks.
"Not really, I got enough though."
"We'll be pulling into the Capitol in a couple of hours. Make sure to wave and smile at as many people as possible. There may be more than a few sponsors in that crowd."
I can hear the urgency in Cynthia's voice and a pang of regret hits for a second. I'm still not completely sure about why I'm here but if my theory is correct, then they don't understand the situation fully. Neither of them know about the other parts of my plan either. I'll have to decide sooner or later whether to tell them.
I eat more food yesterday than I have in any breakfast before. There's luxuries like hot chocolate and orange juice and cinnamon rolls, and "normal fare" of eggs, bacon, potatoes, ketchup, cereals. I stuff myself and give myself time to digest. I ask where Chris is and Flint says he's in his room.
The train slows down and finally comes to a stop to fuel up at a station.
"I think I might go for some fresh air." I announce before giving a stare at Flint and Cynthia. Somehow the invisible plea for one or both of them to come with me reaches their ears. Aquilina comes in to bother us with all sorts of information and details and Cynthia immediately engages her in conversation. About what I don't know.
The observation car has window's that retract and in the blustery wind that suddenly fills the car, any conversation can be easily lost to listeners. We step outside and Flint turns me around.
"What is it?" he asks a little grumpily.
I'm about to relate my thoughts about the reaping towards Flint when suddenly I remember what my grandfather said.
"I have a message for you, from the Mayor. He said to remember your promise."
From his reaction, this takes Flint by surprise but its impossible to discern what's going on behind his slightly cross-eyed face.
"Well, I suppose that makes me your mentor as much as Cynthia. Great." he throws his hands up in the air.
"Wait? What?"
"He didn't tell you did he." Flint rolls his eyes. "All right girlie. The last time someone in your family was my responsibility and died, I swore to your family I would at least put in a better effort to keep you alive. Guess our Mayor didn't forget after all."
This surprises me for a moment but I can think about this later.
"Well, it's just as well that Cynthia prefers we're on the same page about everything. She told me a basic idea of your plan and strategy for the games. Good for you for coming up with that in advance. You have something else you wanted to say?" he asks.
Quickly I relate all of my thoughts about my reaping to Flint. My words are having some sort of effect because his face is becoming more and more serious and he looks less and less hungover.
"Looks like you're the most screwed over tribute. Great, how can I help you?" he asks.
"Stop being so drunk for once?" I suggest.
He sighs.
"Well, Cynthia's already trying to do that but I guess your Grandfather's going to guilt trap me if another Emerson ends up in a coffin. Fine. I'll make a deal. Don't talk about my drinking again, and I'll do everything in my power to help you okay?"
"Deal."
"So, have you thought about what you're going to do in the arena? Now that you've convinced yourself you're marked for death?"
I spend another minute explaining my thoughts to him, mainly my desire to try and go out on my own terms."
"That's a great plan Finch." he snorts. "Let's assume for a second that Snow actually isn't the culprit. What then?"
"Then we cross that bridge when it comes time.
"Great plan." he repeats.
"You're not helping."
"Well, I'd personally like to see you get back to your family alive." he glares. "But if you're convinced that you're dead regardless, and seeing that I promised to keep you alive, I'm more inclined to think about escape than some stupid-last stand."
"But escape's impossible!"
"Then we're going to have to think about how to do the impossible!"
"Is there even a way out of the arena? An actual plan C?" I inquire.
"Technically I suppose there is if you had a bunch of things go right in your favor, but remember Finch, there's a force field around the arena."
"I know."
"You'd have to lower that to get out and nothing, save a miracle from the Gamemakers, would allow you that option."
"What about faking my death?" I ask.
Flint laughs.
"It would work, but tell m me how you plan to do that with the trackers embedded within you. Those things are biomedical marvels. You can't fool them."
"Well, where do the Tributes go after they die?"
"I don't know. It would have to be somewhere in the Capitol unless they have a full functioning remake center."
I think about this for a second. The tributes from Five that come back dead always exhibit signs of having been in the arena but whatever prep team they have in there, they can do anything from add in lost body weight, to repairing the most brutal injuries so that even in death they look beautiful. At least the Capitol gives the District's that luxury for free.
"Unless you plan on waking up alive in that center, I'm not sure what you're going to do to get out of there. The place is probably under heavy security and I don't think even you are that stealthy to get out."
"Always a first."
He laughs again bitterly.
"You're not helping."
"Well how can I help? You're the girl with the brains."
"Put your ear to the ground, drug a few people, I don't know!" I throw up my arms frustrated that he doesn't seem to be wanting to put in a greater effort. "If it really is impossible to find a plan C tell me so that I can stop wasting my time."
Flint stops and I watch him process that he's gone too far this time.
"I'll do what I can Finch." He says trying to repair the damage. "I'm not sure how much that will be, but I promise I will do whatever that is in my power. I owe that much to your grandfather. Do you want Cynthia in on this too?"
"Especially her. She knows guile better than you."
"Thanks for the compliment." He snorts. "You know I can't openly favor you once we're there because of Chris—"
"I know. Do your thing with him but you can both jointly sponsor right? Can we work a little more together than we are now?"
"Yeah. I guess so."
"Thank you Flint." I sigh, relieved that at least I think he's going to make an honest effort.
"You know; he doesn't hate you." He says after a minute.
"Who, Chris?"
"Yeah. He's just angry that he's been reaped. He's barely scrapped by all throughout so it's easy for him to resent you because you're a Townie."
"Who would have thought."
"He does however respect you for what you did on that dam and for your willingness to volunteer for your sister had she been reaped. I wouldn't worry about him as a threat. If he doesn't get in with the Careers I think he's likely to take down as many of them as he can."
"In other words suicide." I purse my lips.
"It's not so different from what you're contemplating." He points out dryly. "Come on. Back on the train. Fresh air break is over."
With some reluctance I get on the train again and within another five minutes we are moving again.
The mountain passes are behind us. We've left the Sweetwater while ago. We're in thick forested country with massive pines that haven't been touched. The timber is supposedly better in District 7 though. The forests abruptly stop and we're crossing a series a wide open space filled with tall grass. Another river runs alongside our train and we cross over it. We turn due east and we're into the territory technically belonging to the Capitol. Venture too far from the tracks and you'll probably run into some secret facility. There's nobody around. Eventually our track merges with another line, probably from District 1, and we're weaving our way towards the Capitol.
I return to my room and collect the fox Electra has given me. Perhaps I can make this into a pin or something and attach it to my clothing.
When I return, Chris has joined everybody else.
"Ah there you are!" Aquilina says relieved that I've returned.
"We're going to be at the Capitol soon so you might want to pay attention." Cynthia says.
"Yes we are!" Aquilina says without missing a beat. "Now, when we arrive in the tunnel I think it's a good idea to be standing at the windows to at least acknowledge the crowd. Many of the sponsors like to see the Tributes first hand. I don't care whether you stare at them or wave, but do something. Once we're out of the tunnel, a car will take you straight to the remake center and then tonight's the parade!"
"What can I expect?" Chris asked not too thrilled at the idea of a remake.
"Oh, not too much. Finch on the other hand has got a lot to be done."
I'm slightly annoyed by the comment. Cynthia looks at me as if to apologize and I shrug it off. She's no worse than Cinna's prep team. I tell myself they're all just naïve and don't know better. It's not like I have a lot to do anyways. My eyebrows are still in shape from Cinna and my body is still more or less free of hair.
The windows suddenly lights blur along the side of the tunnel.
"Ah yes. We are almost here."
We must be going through one of the mountains that shields the Capitol. They're excellent natural defenses. The reason why the first uprising failed in the Dark Days was because the Capitol forced the Rebels to scale the mountains where they were easy targets. The offensive faltered, and they were on the run from then on.
A minute or two passes before we're in the clear. Several other tracks join onto ours and I can see a reservoir of water. A series of dams lets the water cascade to a river far below. Beyond the mist I can make out a shimmering city.
Well, the cameras were right, it is beautiful, but there's no way they could capture the entirety of the size and coloration of the city with its massive skyscrapers that glitter in rainbow colored hues, surrounded by magnificent steel and glass sculptures with beautiful paved roads crisscrossing the city. The sky is a beautiful blue that stands out against the the stark-white snow covered mountain tops that shield the Capitol from all around. For all that I despise in it, the Capitol looks better than it does on camera and it quite honestly takes my breath away.
The beautiful scene is swallowed up by the darkness of a tunnel and I feel the train descend slightly.
"All right! We should be there any minute now!"
I move to one of the windows and feel the train slow until the dark tunnel walls is suddenly replaced with a white pristine looking series of platforms with an enormous brightly colored crowd of people crowding our platform. They've seen a tribute train coming and suddenly they're pressing up against us like it's all they can do. One man starts weeping openly and a trio of women all swoon.
"They're insane!" Chris gapes wide-eyed.
"They're your lifeline to survival. Now act somewhat happy." Flint orders gruffly.
On cue I put on a faint smile, the one that people back home said make me make look "Fox-like" and mysterious and waved to the crowd. Their reaction stunned me. They all rushed towards my window and shouted my name, waving, jumping up and down, shouting. This show was alarming but I tried to make eye contact with all the people. I catch the eye of a couple males who give me looks that instantly repulse me. I instantly look away and focus on a different group of insane people.
The train stopped and a line of Peacekeepers parted the crowd. I noticed Chris had joined in waving but he had a dark look on his face. The crowd took notice of him and he got more attention. Fine. Let him play the brutal and angry angle.
Aquilina gave us each a small bag to put any articles from the home or train inside. I grabbed the purple dress and placed the fox safely inside it before putting the dress in. Aquilina took possession of the bags and she escorted us outside.
The noise of the crowd calling us deafened me and gave me a headache. Aquilina led us up the staircase at the end. Several other empty trains lay still indicating that a couple other District's had already arrived. We ascended a long concrete ramp ascending upwards and stepped outside of the station.
The remake center was a large building that sat in front of the 'Avenue of the Tributes'. A long stretch of road surrounded by seats and places for the Capitol to all eagerly gather. Tonight it will be filled with people as we are pulled by chariot in costumes that reflect our Districts to City Circle in front of the President's Mansion at the end where the President will say a few words and we are delivered to the Tribute Center, a tall and elegant skyscraper that will be my home/prison for this week that was located behind the Remake Center looking northwards towards the President's mansion.
"Are you both ready?" Aquilina asked in a sing-song voice?
"Yes." I said while Chris merely grunted.
"Splendid. You both will look fabulous tonight! I'm going to start talking to people to see if I can secure premature sponsors but ultimately it's up to your mentors to finalize any agreement. I'll deliver your belongings to our apartments and I will look for you both tonight!"
Flint and Cynthia nod. Flint thankfully looks more serious now that he's not drunk (for how long though is up for debate) I catch Flint's eye and he nods slightly. Satisfied he remembers our conversation from earlier, I'm ready to let myself be remade.
"Don't argue with the stylists too much and let them do their thing. We'll see you tonight." Cynthia beams. A pair of Peacekeepers come out to escort us. Aquilina and our mentors wave and we're escorted past them and into the atrium as the doors close behind us.
Within seconds, we're brought to an elevator, stuffed inside, and I grit my teeth and prepare myself for the worst.
Did you make it? Congrats! I apologize that it was 7,000 words in length. I'll do my best to shorten it in the future.
And so we leave Finch in the Capitol and to the first part of the Games. Too bad Finch doesn't have Cinna as a stylist for the opening ceremonies.
A note on Tribute names: To the best of my ability I researched the names of the Tributes. Fun fact; The District Four Female is confirmed to be named Marina, District Six Female is confirmed to be Tamora, and we know her partner Jason from a scene with Cato during training. Otherwise, I either used FanArt that I found (which seems to be more or less semi-unofficial) for inspiration or made up the names on my own. The result is a cast of Tributes that's much more real, human, and easier to empathize with rather than the unknown people we were presented with in the movie. I recognize that Suzanne Collins left a lot of these tributes nameless for good reason, but for my purposes, we have twenty four living, breathing Tributes with actual names.
Until next time! Thank you to those who've left suggestions and/or praise. It means a lot.
Yours in writing,
theotherpianist