See chapter 1 for disclaimer.
Well, here's chapter 3! I apologize for waiting so long to update it. I took a month long hiatus from writing (life got in the way and all) and then when I got back to writing, I just couldn't figure out where I wanted this chapter to go. As a result… this chapter goes everywhere, which is why it's ten pages long. Honestly, I could probably have gone on for another five, but I decided I needed to cut it down here, before it got into the fifteen-page long area.
Again, sorry for the delay! I hope to have the next chapter up considerably sooner.
Thank you for all of your wonderful reviews! I hope my length between updates hasn't discouraged you from reading!
Kudos to anyone who can catch Erik's appearance! (And I hope you all love his opening ceremony costume… I know I had a field day imagining him wearing that…)
Hope you all enjoy this rather lengthy chapter!
The Mutant Games
Chapter 3: Safe and Sound
The next morning came all too early for Charles' liking. His sleep had been fitful, plagued by nightmares of what was to come. In one particularly horrible dream, Charles had been plunged onto a volcanic landscape and been forced to fight against a boy five times his size while nearby, a river of lava came spilling toward him.
A knock on the door signaled that it was time for Charles to actually get out of bed. He did so with a weary sigh, running a hand over his face.
He picked up his shirt from the night before and pulled it on, not caring how rumpled he looked, before heading out the door.
Katherine and Effie were already eating breakfast in the dining car when Charles walked in. Haymitch was suspiciously absent, though from the brief glimpse Charles had gotten from the other man the other day, the young telepath could hardly say he was surprised. Haymitch struck him as someone who preferred to be alone.
Katherine looked up from her rather large breakfast and smiled slightly. It was impossible to miss the fear that radiated off her in strong waves.
Charles returned the gesture half-heartedly as he took a seat across from her. He really didn't want to go through with making friends with her—it would only make it worse for both of them when it came time to enter the arena.
Effie began chattering away about proper etiquette and sponsors and whatnot as Charles surveyed the breakfast trolley. Like the day before, there was far too much food for only four occupants, which disgusted him to no end. How could the Capitol afford to waste so much while Charles had to fight tooth and nail to save his family from starvation?
He forced away the dark thought and settled on having a couple of pieces of buttered toast. It was by far the two most delicious pieces of bread the young telepath had ever eaten.
It was only when Effie fell silent and stared at him that Charles realized he had been tuning her out. He mentally sighed and risked a swift glimpse into her mind. There was nothing rather important—most of it was how to look 'proper' in the Capitol—but she had asked him if he had an questions.
He shook his head and continued eating his toast.
The older woman was about to launch into what was undoubtedly another tirade about politeness—Charles had counted three of them between the time it took for him to sit down and eat a piece of toast—when the door to the dining car opened and Haymitch stumbled in.
He was dressed haphazardly in a pair of sweatpants and a torn tank top. His feet were bare and in his right hand, he carried an empty glass of scotch.
Disgust once more welled up in Charles and he looked away before he said anything he would later regret.
Katherine, on the other hand, didn't seem to have such inhibitions.
"Do you ever quit drinking?" she demanded.
Effie let out a sharp gasp and Charles glanced between Katherine and Haymitch warily. The latter turned toward her, an eyebrow raised in amused disdain.
"Do you ever quit with your annoying voice?" Haymitch retorted.
Katherine's face went blank. Charles knew how she was about to react heartbeats before she thrust the knife at Haymitch's hand. The telepath reached out and stopped her a split second before the weapon reached its intended target. The girl barely had time to voice a protest before Charles had shoved Haymitch up against a wall. The bottle of alcohol went shattering to the floor.
"Stop!" Effie screeched. "This is barbaric!"
Silence.
Charles took a deep breath and let Haymitch go. He had surprised even himself with his outburst, but he couldn't help but feel a little justified. Being drunk all of the time wasn't going to help anyone.
Haymitch stared at Charles and Katherine with astonishment.
"Is it possible," he slurred, "that I actually got a pair of fighters this year?"
Effie hissed her dissatisfaction and stalked out of the dining car. Clearly, their 'barbaric' display put her off her appetite.
Haymitch took her now empty seat. He looked smugly satisfied as he studied Charles and Katherine closely.
Charles tensed as the older man reached forward, relaxing ever so slightly as he grabbed a biscuit and the jam.
"Interesting," Haymitch murmured. "Very interesting."
"What?" Katherine demanded, obviously annoyed.
The older man shook his head.
"It's been years since District 12 has had a pair of fighters," he said. "It should make the Games very interesting this year."
Charles yearned to ask who actually cared if the Games were interesting—they were a horrific spectacle at the best of times—but he kept his mouth shut.
Haymitch was still studying them intently. Katherine let out a huge sigh.
"Are you going to help us or eat us?"
A grin settled on to Haymitch's face. "I think I might just help you."
(0)
It turned out Haymitch's advice wasn't all that complicated.
"If you want to stay alive, then you're going to want sponsors," he explained. "Sponsors can provide you with help in the arena. Anything from medicine to a single match."
Charles knew most of this already, having spent his entire life watching the Games. Still, he wasn't about to knock the teachings of a survivor of the arena. Any little bit would help.
"How do we get sponsors?" Katherine wanted to know.
"You get people to like you," Haymitch replied. A twisted smirk crossed his face. "You two both need a little more work in that department."
Katherine bristled and opened her mouth to argue, but Charles cut across her.
"And how do we do that?"
He already knew the answer—it was plain in Haymitch's mind—and didn't like it. Charles had never been one to try to impress anyone. In his opinion, it was a waste of time. Why did it matter if anyone liked you or not when they wouldn't lift so much as a finger to help you?
"You be charming," Haymitch said. With a pointed, frosty look at Katherine, he added, "Well, for some people, charming works. Others…"
At Katherine's glare, he trailed off, though Charles highly doubted it was because the older man was scared of her.
Charles let out a weary sigh and walked over to the window. A shocking sight met his eyes.
They had been travelling underground for the better part of an hour now, so he hadn't expected the sudden, brilliant display of the Capitol. The skyline was made entirely of glass, reflecting in dazzling patterns on the water front.
"Come look!" he urged Katherine, unable to entirely hide the awe in his voice.
She cast a reluctant last glance toward Haymitch, before joining Charles by the window. The young telepath could feel her admiration as they gazed at the sparkling city.
"It's beautiful," Katherine murmured.
Charles murmured his agreement.
All too soon, the train rounded a corner and the city vanished. Charles and Katherine were once more plunged into darkness as it went through a tunnel.
They had arrived at the train station.
Charles wasn't exactly sure what he was expecting when the train pulled into the station, but a large adoring crowd, all screaming with excitement hadn't been one of them.
He plastered a smile on his face, waving back at the hundreds of people packed into the train station, while trying to swallow back the nausea he felt as his mind came into contact with every last person present.
The mass crowd gave Charles a sharp wake up call to the reality of what was happening. All morning, he had somehow managed to not think about why he was here. But now, as he waited beside Katherine to get off the train, he was forcefully reminded that this could very well be one of the last places he'd ever be.
It was sickening, that so many people had shown up to watch as the two tributes were led off the train like lambs to the slaughter. How could these people just sit around and watch children die?
Charles' smile vanished from his face at the thought, and he turned away from the window. His eyes found Haymitch. The older man's face was a study in compassion—he clearly understood what was going through Charles' mind.
The train jolted to a stop and Charles looked away.
It was time.
(0)
Charles was led to a small, windowless room and was told to sit on the table. From watching the Games in the past, the young telepath knew that this was where he would meet his stylist. His stylist would get him ready for not only the opening ceremonies later that night, but would also be in charge of all of the outfits Charles would wear for what would probably be the remainder of his life.
Charles let out a sigh, forcing those particularly dark thoughts out of his mind. Part of him wondered what his outfit would be for the opening ceremonies. It was the stylist's job to capture the essence of each district. Being from District 12, which mined coal, that generally meant all tributes were dressed in highly unflattering coal mining uniforms. Every now and then, when a stylist was feeling particularly attention starved, he or she would have the audacity to make the tribute go stark naked, painted black.
The young telepath hoped that that would not be the case this year.
The door to the room burst open and in piled three people. Charles assumed this was his prep team, the people would clean him up and make him presentable for his stylist.
There were two women and one man. One of the women looked relatively normal, save for her aqua green hair and eye lashes. She was dressed in a skintight black dress and bright gold boots. The other woman, however, had purple skin and vivid pink hair. Her dress was made entirely of feathers, and an outlandish orange color, with gaudy green jewels sewn into it. The man had silver skin and jet black hair. His eyes were strangely a bright pink color, which gave him the appearance of a weasel. The white fur coat he was wearing did little to distract from this description, either.
The prep team quickly introduced themselves. The first woman was Venia, the other Octavia. The man's name was Flavius.
"We're here to get you ready for Cinna," Flavius said, speaking quickly.
"You're very fortunate to be here!" Octavia exclaimed. "You'll have the time of your life!"
"I couldn't believe what you did for your brother," Venia said, pressing her hand over her heart. "That was just so…inspiring."
Charles tensed. It wasn't supposed to have been inspiring. He had been trying to right the injustice of the Games, not encourage them.
The prep team didn't notice his agitation. Flavius set to work preparing something in a bowl and the two women started chattering away about skin creams and eyebrows. It was in such a ridiculous way that Charles smiled slightly despite himself. Their simple minds were a hum of excitement and anxiety. This, clearly, was their first job, and they couldn't wait to get started. Charles found himself unexpectedly liking these people before he really got to know them, if only because he couldn't hate people who were so obviously not that intelligent.
They quickly set to work stripping Charles of his clothes.
Venia found the pin Hank had given him, tucked into the pocket of his pants.
"Ooh, is this your symbol of your district?" she asked.
Charles stared at her blankly, momentarily not understanding the question. He then remembered from Games past that tributes were allowed a small token from their districts.
He nodded.
"Yes."
The one word hurt more than Charles had thought possible, for it brought up the heart breaking last encounter he had had with Hank.
Charles quickly shoved that thought out of his head and instead focused on the mindless words of his prep team.
"Oh how I wish we could die his skin! He would look so pretty in pale green!" Octavia moaned.
Charles froze—what?
Luckily, Flavius was already shaking his head, albeit mournfully.
"Cinna wants him as normal as possible," he said with a sigh. "Same goes for the girl. We're only to do the basics."
Venia clicked her tongue as she studied Charles' hands, muttering about the collection of scars and calluses he had built up over the years.
"These simply won't do," she declared. "We need to do a skin regeneration on his hands. They're horrible!"
"Cinna said only the basics," Flavius repeated, looking down at Charles with a look of mournful disdain. He clearly thought that all of this was Charles' fault, as though the young telepath had had some sort of influence over the mysterious Cinna.
Charles breathed a mental sigh of relief. He was quite proud of his hands, for they were a reminder of everything he had been through and everything he could do. He wouldn't trade the scars and calluses for anything in the world.
The prep team muttered amongst themselves for a few moments, before returning to work. Charles wasn't exactly sure what all they were doing, save for dunking him into all sorts of foul smelling liquids, but he did know that he was beginning to grow weary of all of the attention.
Octavia, who was combing Charles' hair, attempted to draw him into a conversation.
"So, what's your mutation?"
It was an honest question, one that was probably asked by all of the prep teams for all of the districts. After all, these were the Mutant Games.
Still, Charles was reluctant to answer. Given how his ability was treated around others of his kind, he really didn't want to face the reactions of these simple-minded humans for being able to read their minds or sense their moods.
Luckily, he was saved from having to answer. The door opened once more, revealing a young man, barely an inch taller than Charles. His skin was a light olive color, his hair dark with flecks of gold. He was dressed relatively simple for a Capitol citizen, wearing only a pair of black plants and a long-sleeved gold shirt with black jewels on it. He had a kind enough face, which was adorned by one simple gold hoop in his right ear.
This had to be Cinna.
His mind, surprisingly, was calm and collected, betraying all of the assumptions Charles had drawn about him from the prep team. There was an air of intelligence about him, too, that made Charles take a legitimate liking to him.
That, and the first thing the man did was to dismiss the prep team.
The trio disappeared in a burst of excited energy. Charles immediately felt exhausted.
Cinna seemed to sense that, for he gave Charles a sympathetic smile.
"They're good at what they do, but they are a little high maintenance," he said.
Charles smiled slightly and nodded his agreement.
The stylist walked over to the telepath and offered his hand.
"I'm Cinna," he said. "I'm to be your stylist for the Games."
"Charles," the younger man replied. "And I know."
Cinna nodded.
"Do you know what my job here is?"
Charles shrugged. "You're here to treat me like a puppet. Dress me up in fancy clothes and such."
The stylist shook his head.
"I'm here to help you make an impression," he said. "So you can get sponsors and have a better chance of surviving in the arena. But I will not now, or will I ever treat you like a puppet."
Charles had nothing to say that, surprised at the conviction in the other man's voice.
Cinna continued with a sad smile.
"I would first like to tell you how sorry I am that you are here," he said. "And that what you did for your brother was a very brave thing to do."
Charles stared in shock.
Cinna smiled again.
"That wasn't what you were expecting, was it?"
The telepath shook his head.
"Everyone has been congratulating me," he murmured.
"I don't see the point in that," Cinna said, his face darkening minutely.
Charles longed to take a glance into the stylist's mind, to find out what exactly caused that look, but the telepath had already developed far too much respect for the older man to invade his privacy like that.
"Thank you," Charles said instead. "For not…"
He trailed off, but he knew that Cinna would understand.
They stared at each other for a few moments, before Cinna spoke again.
"Would you mind standing for me? I want to see the work the prep team has done," he explained.
Charles stood slowly, not enjoying the intense stare Cinna was giving him. The only time he stared at anything that intently was when he was hunting, and Charles did not appreciate the irony of the situation. It once more reminded him forcibly of why he was here.
Cinna let out a contented sigh.
"You may sit down," he said. "Now, you're probably wondering what I have in store for you."
Charles nodded. "In the past, we've been coal miners," he said.
"Yes, and it's no wonder that District 12 is the most laughed at district because of that," Cinna stated.
Great, Charles thought. That means I'll be going naked.
Cinna told Charles to wait for a moment and returned with a long, black garment bag.
"Unzip it," the stylist instructed.
Curiously, Charles took the bag and carefully unzipped it.
Inside was a black one piece made out of a shiny, reflective material.
Charles looked from the garment to Cinna in confusion.
"What is this?" he asked.
Cinna smiled mischievously. "One of my many inventions," he said. He reached over and took the one piece out of Charles' hands. "This is made of a special material that will allow me to add artificial fire to it."
"You're lighting me on fire?" Charles demanded incredulously.
"In a way, yes," Cinna said. "But don't worry, it's perfectly safe."
"You're lighting me on fire," Charles repeated.
This was so much worse than going naked. He'd take that over this any day.
Cinna studied Charles for a moment.
"Do you trust me?" he asked.
A part of Charles instantly said no. The telepath hadn't truly trusted anyone outside of his own adopted family for years.
But then again, Cinna was different. Charles couldn't quite explain it, but there was something about the stylist that struck him as different than all of the other Capitol people he had encountered.
Charles nodded once and looked away.
Cinna clapped a hand on his shoulder reassuringly.
"It will work out," he said. With a little more humor, he added, "And if it doesn't, you won't have to worry about the Games."
Right. Because that was so reassuring.
(0)
Night was beginning to fall as Charles walked with Cinna over to the paddocks. For the opening ceremonies, the tributes would stand in carriages pulled by giant black horses, and be paraded around the central square of the Capitol. It would be the first chance for the tributes to get a good look at each other as well as show off for all of the Mutant Games fans.
Anxiety swept over Charles in thick, hot waves until he was almost drowning in it. What if Cinna's plan didn't work? What if this wasn't safe? He was going to catch on fire, in front of hundreds of thousands of people. He would be the one tribute to die before the Games even begun.
Katherine and her stylist, Portia, a young woman, were already waiting at the twelfth and final carriage along with Haymitch and Effie. Katherine was dressed in the same black one piece that Charles was, with her long, brown hair done artfully on the top of her head. She looked as nervous as Charles felt.
Cinna and Katherine's stylist separated from the group and started whispering. Haymitch looked at them disdainfully, before looking back at Charles and Katherine.
"Don't fall out of the carriage," he advised.
"Voice of experience?" Charles asked lightly, surprising both Haymitch and himself with the glib remark.
The older man let out a snort of laughter and shook his head. Effie sniffed righteously as Cinna and Portia returned to the group.
"All right," Cinna said. "It's time."
Charles and Katherine exchanged terrified glances as they climbed up into the carriage. Portia produced two, glowing torches and handed one to Cinna.
"Trust me," Cinna reminded Charles as he lowered the flickering torch to Charles' leg. "This will all work out."
The flame leapt from the torch to Charles' leg. The telepath tensed, expecting to feel a rush of heat and burning, but was delightfully surprised when there was none.
"It works!" Katherine exclaimed.
Cinna and Portia exchanged a knowing, yet slightly relieved glance.
Before anyone had the chance to say anything else, the signal for the ceremonies to start sounded. The horses started to move, and before Charles knew it, he was going through the tunnel that would lead to the main square.
"And announcing, District 12! And oh my, are they on fire?"
The voice of Claudius Templesmith filled Charles' ears moments before the sound of the crowd shrieking their excitement did.
Large view screens had been set up around the square. Charles saw for the first time what everyone was thrilled about.
The artificial fire danced all over Charles and Katherine, making them positively glow. Combined with the thick, dark make-up Portia and Cinna had applied, it was no wonder why everyone in the stands couldn't take their eyes off them. They looked powerful, as if they had managed to harness the power of fire and make it do their bidding.
All too soon, the parade came to a halt in the middle of the main square. A large podium had been set up. Behind it, stood President Shaw, a tall, striking figure dressed in an impeccable suit. His graying, brown hair was swept in a stylish manner away from his face, revealing cold, calculating brown eyes.
There was a hint of snobbish malice stemming from him, so strong, that even at nearly eight yards away, Charles could still feel it.
The cameramen had a hard time spending equal screen time with the President, the other tributes, and the District 12 tributes, for the sun had set entirely, and now it was all too easy to just stare at Charles and Katherine.
Still, there was one other district that captured the cameramen's attention. District 4, the coastal district, had some pretty interesting outfits. The girl was dressed in a skimpy top and a scaly green skirt, making her look like half woman and half fish.
The boy tribute was more impressive, dressed simply in a loin cloth. He was tall, and muscular, with light brown hair. In his hand he carried a glowing, golden trident.
The cameramen switched back to the President as Shaw held up his hand and the grandstands immediately went silent. He then began his speech.
"Welcome," he said, eliciting cheers and applause from the crowd. "Tributes, we welcome you. As we wish you happy Mutant Games. And may the odds be ever in your favor."
At that, the crowd went wild with cheers and applause.
Charles barely heard any of it, for at that moment, he accidentally got a glimpse into Shaw's mind.
What he found there was terrifying, to say the least.
Shaw was a mutant. A mutant, who condoned these hateful acts, who encouraged them, year after year.
A bolt of lightning hot pain shot through Charles' mind, and he gasped, losing contact with Shaw's mind. Someone had forced him out of the President's mind.
"Are you all right?" Katherine asked softly as the carriages began moving out of the square.
Charles blinked and looked back at her, his eyes wide with shock. He swallowed once and nodded.
"Yeah," he said. "I'm fine."
He looked away, not wanting to continue the conversation. He was still in horrified astonishment over what he had just discovered.
How could this happen? he wondered.
Not soon enough, the carriages pulled up in front of the Training Center. This would be where the tributes lived and trained for a week before the Games began. For twenty-three of them, it would be the last place in civilization they ever saw.
Charles barely paused to wonder at the marvels of the building as he followed Katherine over to where Haymitch and Effie were waiting. His mind was still mulling over what had just happened and how someone had forced him out of President Shaw's mind.
They were joined by Cinna and Portia, who put out Katherine and Charles' suits. Effie gushed about how amazing the costumes had been and how they would be bringing in so many sponsors as a result.
Charles barely heard any of it as he followed the group into the building and into a gilded elevator. Each floor of the Training Center corresponded with the living quarters of the tributes from the Districts. Being from District 12, Charles and Katherine would have the penthouse at the very top.
The basement of the Training Center would be where the tributes would train for the Games, beginning the following morning.
The elevator opened once more, revealing the enormous, lavish penthouse. Charles didn't even glance at it as he followed the group through the hallway and into the main room. It was sumptuously decorated, of course, but the young telepath couldn't have cared less at that moment.
"Your rooms are through there," Effie announced, gesturing down another small hallway. "Go get some rest. We'll celebrate this success in the morning."
Charles was grateful for the excuse to be alone. Without another word, he headed toward his room.