Highspeed by Coldplay
Can anybody stop this thing
Before my head explodes.
Maynor Richman, 14, District Four
I shiver against the cold metal table, still wet with the vapor from my when they hosed me down earlier. I still don't wear more than a pair of white, tight shorts and I am freezing in the moving air but at least I am clean. In fact, I never knew I was even dirty until all the grime ran off of me in streams. I guess that's kind of cool, that they're going to take care of me while I am here I mean.
The door opens and three vibrantly dressed people step into the room with wide eyes trained on me. Each of them seems to have a single color theme going, the taller of the men being green, the shorter blue, and the only girl in the room yellow. They walk over to me and one of the men pets my leg, now free of hair thanks to one of the earlier people that wore only solid white. I wiggle away from him.
"He's just like Nix told us!" The green man exclaims with a toothy smile. The yellow woman nods her approval and the blue man moves closer to take another look at me.
The woman takes hold of my face and turns it over from side to side. "Truly amazing, Maynor. It is an honor to work on you."
"What do you mean?" I squeak. Am I being told I am pretty by a bunch of people I don't know. Don't get me wrong, the compliment would be great but in this situation as I sit on a table barely a step away from being naked, it's verging on creepy.
"You are the talk of the prep teams," she tells me in a voice the feels oddly like she is not even speaking to me at all, her eyes still scanning over my body and making me feel like a thousand needles are hitting me at once. "Your entrance has not gone unnoticed, everyone is wondering why."
Why. The only question I have heard since I got into the room in the Justice Building to say my goodbyes to anyone that might come. Why did you volunteer? Why did you say what you did on stage? Why, why, why? I could end the constant questions with one simple answer, but I'm scared it will disappoint people if I tell them now. They're expecting someone great, someone with intentions far beyond his young age and strength to back it up. They want someone and I am someone else entirely, if that makes sense. Would they still be so interested if they knew?
"We have come to check on you, ensure that the others have done their work well enough for our standards."
"I thought you were my Prep Team? My Mentor said I would get one once I was brought here."
The woman chuckles. "They were the three from earlier, we are merely inspectors. Spectators to your honorable if you will."
The three of them pace around me a few times more and then the yellow woman leads the men back out through the doors. Just before the metal frame closes behind him, the blue man pokes his head back in. "Your stylist will be in shortly."
The door closes and I am all alone again. I hardy have time to return to my thoughts, however, because a couple minutes later a man dressed in golden feathers strides through the door. He holds his hand out to me and I push myself up on my elbows to take it.
"I am Mircelle and I will be your stylist."
"Maynor, nice to meet you."
"Don't be silly, boy, I know who you are," he tells me with a laugh, leaning in closer and giving me a wink. "The kid volunteer, remember t mention that in your Interview."
"Is it really that big of a deal?" I ask, leaning in towards him as if it were some big secret.
"The biggest deal, Maynor," he grins. "Now let's make you even more unforgettable."
He opens one of the doors that are scrawled across the back of the room and pulls out a hanger on which sits just a few strands of some too-green seaweed and a golden crown similar to the one the Victors wear at the ending Interview. He steps towards me and peels one of the pieces of seaweed from the hanger. "You're going to have to remove your shorts now, Maynor. I have a new outfit for my little star."
Fleur Aisley, 14, District Eleven
"Remember, children. That is the word of the day, remember. You are fresh faces now act like you are. The only thing I can tell you to do is be memorable, anything past that is not my responsibility," Ambivia instructs us as we walk through the winding hallways. She doesn't even seem to be looking where she is going, but I guess that's just how well she knows her way around. I almost hope that the constructors changed something around this year and she slams her high little nose into a concrete wall.
"Right through here," she tells us, pushing through a door with a gallant motion of her hands. She turns back to Valerian and I as if giving us one last check over, like something may have changed since she did the last glance back three seconds earlier. Just before Valerian pushes me through the door ahead of him, I can hear Ambivia hissing for us not to embarrass her so soon.
The room we are in is huge, such a contrast to the tiny chambers we were prepared in. Horse drawn carriages fit for the show are set in a row of twelve, almost every one of them accompanied by two tributes, two stylists, and one or two people that must be the other mentors. The carriages all look to be uniform, white with gold trim, and the only difference being the huge numbers on each side to show the district number of the tributes that will be inside. Ambivia leads us immediately to one of the only three carriages that do not already have people beside it. The second last one with chestnut colored ponies standing calmly in front of it. I have never seen such well behaves horses, though it's likely the Capitol has them drugged or worse so that they act like that.
Our stylists file in behind Valerian and I, adjusting the brightly colored flowers that cover only the most vulnerable parts of our bodies and leave the rest of us completely exposed. A hand lands on my inner thigh and I flinch away, closing my legs instantly and feeling as Valerian pulls me tightly to his chest. Both our stylists back off at the look his gives them and I am content with that. If it was up to me, no one would ever touch me except Valerian.
I glance over to the doors where another posse of people are walking into the stable room. They appear to be the District Three tributes and their teams. I don't remember their names, hardly having paid attention during the time on the train when Ambivia insisted Valerian and I watch the Reapings of the other tributes. For some reason I feel like the girl's name is Celeste or something similar, the boy's, well, I couldn't care less if I am being honest.
The girl walks behind the boy with her arms wrapped around her chest like one would do if one was naked. Neither of them is naked, though like Valerian and I they are quite close. That seems to be the flavour of the year this time around. What a joy, less fabric to waste on the pitiful tributes of the Quarter Quell. The boy wears the wires that wrap around his crotch and right thigh with a big smile on his face, eyes searching the stable like a rich man searches for vulnerable girls in the poor areas of District Eleven.
"Have you both come up with your public angles as I suggested?" Ambivia asks.
"No," Valerian answers for the both of us. "We've decided to ignore you and that's our angle, right?"
I nod half-heartedly and Valerian continues on speaking to Ambivia as I allow my eyes to wander yet again. There is just too much to see in this place. Like the District One pair spray painted from head to toe in gold as if they were life sized trophy figurines, and the two from District Seven with pointy ears and panties made of leaves that look far too green to be real.
I turn back to the conversation when Valerian taps me on the shoulder and grabs my wrist. "It's time to get on now, they said. I wasn't going to but everyone else is so we better too."
He doesn't make much sense when he tries to act rebellious. Usually he will speak out about how much he hates the authority, but seems so hopelessly lost when he actually tries to do anything against them. Brings a new meaning to the title 'rebel without a cause'. More like 'rebel without a clue', I joke to myself before I allow Valerian to pull me up the steps and into the carriage.
Goran Pavlov, 17, District Nine
"This is kind of high," Erin stammers under her breath. I turn to her and see that she looks surprised I heard her. I smile lightly at her and look over the side of the chariot. In fact it is not truly that high, but I could see how someone could say that if they were scared of heights, per say. I give her a shrug, not accepting or denying the idea. Wouldn't want to come off on the wrong foot with someone I'm going to be seeing a whole lot of.
The chariots begin to file into the next room which I assume is the stadium based on the applause I can already hear and the light I can already see coming from the wide doors. We'll be entering in district order, like we will be doing most things during the Capitol. Being in a higher district has a definite advantage in these pre-Games stages; it is only when we get into the arena that no one will really care what area you are from unless you are a Career. That's just the truth, and really it is all that matters. I have watched the crowd favourites die in the first few minutes in some Games, and survive in others. Being liked here is not a death sentence or a free train ride to the final. I think people should understand that before spending all of their time trying to gain the favour or distaste of the Capitol people.
"Are you frightened, you could hold onto me if you are," I tell Erin when once again I catch her glancing down at the wheels of the carriage.
She turns to me with a deep scowl. "Look. I don't need your help, so why don't you just crawl back under whatever rock you came from and leave me alone."
"Well," I say, genuinely surprised at the harsh words. I had never met Erin before, it's probably we lived in different sectors of District Nine and went to different schools or else I am sure I would have come across her at some point. I had a very distinct impression of her from the Reaping and her silence ever since we got on the train. She kind of reminded me of some of my friends back in school, it was sort of comforting. I guess people aren't always how you first perceive them, I chide myself.
Our chariot continues to roll forward and stop as the other carriages carry their tributes into the stadium that must be just bursting from fans by the sound of things. Finally, the District Eight chariot is sent through the doors and I catch a glance of the television screen just beyond them once they have moved out of my eyes' path. The District Seven pair are currently being featured, their spritely ears and leafy hats and costumes a clear favourite with the audience.
District Eight takes their place a few seconds after their arrival in the stadium. Their clothes are some of the most conservative this year, appearing to be made of dozens of scarves tied around each other to create a dress for the girl and a pair of long pants for the boy. Red scarves are tied around their foreheads and cinched at the sides of their heads, their applause is less than District Seven's but still hardly less deafening.
Our chariot lurches forward and we are immersed within a few seconds in the bright lights, colorful people, and ear splitting cheers that cannot even be deciphered. I look around for a while, completely forgetting any advice I got earlier on how to behave in the eye of the public. My head feels like it might implode from pressure and I have to remind myself that this would be impossible based on the level of noise. Finally I remember bits of what my mentor told me and I hold my head up and keep my eyes as blank as I can. Just a few seconds into the ride, I feel Erin's nails digging into my side and nearly laugh out loud.
Arissa Talos, 18, Capitol
I nearly fall off of the chariot when Coryn reaches her hand up to help us out. I couldn't believe those were the same people that I share the streets with everyday, some of my friends' parents might have even been in that crowd. They were loud and horrible, their faces swelled with unrecognizable delight when their favourites came into the stadium but none of them looked anything close to friendly. The entire time I was out there, hearing my name whispered and Cicero's cheered, I wanted nothing more than to be back here in the stables with Coryn, Cicero, and my stylists. At least I know where I stand with these people.
I thought that my origin would give me a boost automatically seeing as most of the sponsors are from the Capitol. I can't help but believe I was wrong to think this for even a moment after seeing the wealthiest sponsors splayed across the front row with their official looking clipboards and assistants at their sides. They were judging us, and when I caught one of the men's eyes I saw nothing that makes me believe I am in good standings right now. Maybe I can ask Coryn right now to go check on my placement in one of the lounges, but I don't even know if I wish to know.
I reach the bottom of the ladder and jump to the ground, forgetting my high shoes for just a second too long as I go crashing into Cicero's back. He turns around and catches me without hesitation, and my wide eyes probably give away my surprise that he knew I was falling at all. I was hoping in the shuttle to the Training Center, I would have been able to somehow make a dent in Cicero's metal walls, but he seems insistent on staying completely foreign to me. I know that while we were waiting in our suite for our stylists and Prep Teams to be ready for us, it would have been a much easier wait if I had someone to talk to who would understand the confusion I was feeling. Coryn tries to be understanding, but the truth is she won over ten years ago and the emotions of the situation have been dulled to her. She has been through all of this far more times than we have.
"Hey, thanks for catching me," I say as I try and catch up to Cicero. When I do, I burst out laughing without meaning to. I had forgotten that we were both still wearing our costumes, and the truth is that we both look ridiculous. The Stylists seem to have taken a cue from my hair because both of us were dressed in pink sequins and feathers, even temporarily dying Cicero's eyebrows to match. I see him crack a smile when he sees me, but maybe it was only my imagination because within less than a second his face is like concrete again.
"You're welcome."
"Do you think they're going to let us change out of these things, the feathers around my neck are starting to itch like a lot?"
"Yes."
I stumble for something else to say, but Coryn interrupts by reminding us that we do not have to take the elevator. She points ahead of us and we go through a set of bronze doors, turning at so many points in the hallways that I am sure I would get lost if I tried to navigate by myself. Maybe that's the point, I guess it would make any would be runaways much easier to find if they don't know where they are going.
"Here we are, home sweet home!" Our Escort beams as they throw open the doors to our suite. Right away Coryn and our Escort are off to their rooms, without even a formal goodbye to either Cicero or I. We are left together in silence and I know the time I have to make friends with my district partner is closing quickly. Just as he takes a step towards the hallway where our rooms branch off of, I grab his wrist on impulse. He whirls around without a look of even minor confusion, understandably expecting me to say something.
I blurt out the first thing that I can think of. "I don't think I can stand to be alone, would you stay with me?"
Cicero looks at me like he is considering the offer, then turns back to the doorway. He slips his hand from my grip and steps lightly towards his room, the noise echoing around the room as he slams the door shut and leaves me alone with no other choice than to head to my own room.
The artist theme for this story will be Coldplay
Song: Highspeed
The blog for this story can be found on my profile.
A question or two will be asked at the end of each chapter and I would be very grateful if you could answer them for me as well as giving me a general review on my writing, your thoughts on plot and development, etc.
Who stood out for you out of these four tributes?
I updated without waiting a month! I think I made the right decision with these shorter chapters, and I hope you like them all the same as before. there will be five more chapters similar to this one, each with four POVs until each tribute has been featured. After that the Games will begin!
Next up is Training Day One!