PART II. PREPARING.
CHAPTER 8. CAPITOL.
So I do now have some readers. And some reviews. But not enough people on story alert! Seriously, people, if you want to read the fic, you need to know when it is updated! Put me either on story or author alert! That being said, I really do enjoy talking to some people about this fic - there's much more (much, much, more!) to come. Please stick with me here!
I come through with some of my explanation promises in this chapter - enjoy them, but normally, these explanations will have more build-up. Remember, PM or Review!
~BTCS~
District 1's carriage leaves first, amid the screams of the crowd, much louder than any falling tree that I've ever heard. I glance at tributes Luster and Shyne, encrusted in gems, as they speed out of the Remake Center. The voice counts announces, "District 2, in three, two, one ..." and Gneiss and Mason, dressed as huge chunks of rock, follow District 1. The cheers grow ever louder, and I think that I hear music amid the noise somewhere.
Pixel and Chip follow in their outfits that change colors ever quickly, and Tide and Syren follow them as a fish and a wave, respectively. By the time that Scarlett and Cabel exit in their sparking outfits, my stomach is twisting in anxiety. I'm casting around for something to hold onto as I give myself to the Capitol, and it is River's voice echoing throughout my mind that keeps me sane. "Fight," he says. "make them love you. Just be yourself, and they won't be able to help it." As Jet and Ryder, a hovercraft and a train, speed off, I plaster on my very best smile, and fix my hands on the chariot, preparing myself for the jerk. "District 7, in three, two, one ..."
Raven and I are jerked out of the Remake Center, and the cheers rise again for us. I spot a girl, pink eyes shining, jumping up and down in excitement. I meet those strange pink eyes, and smile wider as I realize her genuine excitement as seeing a tribute. She screams, delighted to my having seen her, and then I'm speeding on. A man is leaning out of his seat, apparently so transfixed with the excitement of seeing me that he cannot stay in his seat. Indeed, at this point in the parade, most of the people are standing, jumping, and screaming like children. Children, I think. That's all they are. And, just as I would if they were real children, realizing that I am the cause for their excitement, I become elated. I lift my hand to wave at a woman holding a violet dog, and the people around her all wave back enthusiastically. I blow a kiss to a small boy with a large lavender hat, and everyone reaches out as though to catch my kiss.
After that, the people and their colors blend together in an inferno of color, light, and sound as I speed by. I wave and blow kisses, smiling so hard that it hurts, and, for a moment, I forget that I am a tribute. It is like Maze said, this is all just a vacation, and I'll be going home soon.
The music grows louder as we reach the President's mansion, which I recognize easily from television broadcasts. Seeing the cheering crowds, I realize that this is their Festival. It takes hearing the music for the connection to dawn upon me, and for the snow in my brain to melt and let me see the ground. They are celebrating, and I am in their celebration. Caught up in the euphoria around me, my voice raises subconsciously to join the music, adding my voice to the chaos around me that is the Capitol.
The music ends with a flourish that I follow, cutting off abruptly as the chariots stop at the same moment. I gaze at the horses in surprise of their very Gamemaker-planned stop. Shaking off the feeling that thinking of the Gamemakers gives me, I turn my eyes to President Snow, atop his famous balcony. His hair is snow white, and his rose as crisply red as it appears on the screens around District 7's community square in Redwood, where surely everyone I know is watching him now ... He stands without trouble, a feat unheard of for someone so old back home, and approaches the podium where he will deliver the same speech he always gives. "Welcome," he begins. His voice isn't unpleasant; he could be a transfixing singer. However, everyone in the districts live in fear that we will hear it in person. "Tributes, we welcome you."
This raises a huge cheer from the crowd, which had momentarily gone silent in anticipation of the words. I think that some persons of the crowd have taken up the call, "Welcome, tributes, welcome!" Others have picked out their favorite outfits and are calling their welcome to specific tributes, whose names they have looked up in the lavender-embossed programs. Every so often, I will catch the sound of my own name being chanted among the others. Most of the crowd simply screams.
"We salute your courage," President Snow announced, "and your sacrifice." The crowd screams in approval, and I feel sick. Sacrifice ... of my life. 23 of the tributes in the parade will be dead within a month or two. Pushing back my nausea, I force a smile at the crowd. "We wish you," President Snow's hands are out, motioning downwards for relative silence like some great conductor of music, which Web has explained to me, though I've never seen one. "Happy Hunger Games!" the screams grow louder and louder, screaming 'Happy Hunger Games!' as Snow delivers his final line, "And may the odds be ever in your favor."
The chariots at once set forth again, but I am not even startled this time. Seeing the President has subdued my mood somewhat, reminding me why they are celebrating, but I push back this feeling and simply wave at more of the silly people. I don't dare glance at Raven beside me, but I catch sight of a screen showing us. He appears to be just as thrilled as I do, but I can hardly stare at our picture because we are whizzing right by it.
The horses turn a sharp, uniform corner and a building lies in front of us - the Tribute Training Center, nicknamed the Tribute Tower because of its immense height. My stomach turns at the sight of it, but the crowd is still everywhere, and I force myself to smile and wave still as we race towards my final home before the arena. Very quickly, Raven and I are swallowed up by the building. The horses stop beside the carriage with Jet Rails and Ryder Wheel still inside of it, looking slightly surprised at the spectacle we all just observed. I offer both of them a tentative smile as Cotton Flinch and Thread Coil, dressed in long garments of many fabrics, rush in, but the District 6 tributes look steadfastly away.
Sighing, I turn to watch Rye Brown and Barley Harvester, dressed in the color and texture of grain, enter, with Angela Herder and Grant Farmer, a horse and a pig, right behind them. Maze beams at me as she and October follow, and I can't resist smiling back. Something about her grin is infectious. As Hestia Flamel and Cole Miner, dressed in baggy coal miner outfits, enter, the doors slide closed without flourish, and the screams are muted.
The silence is eyrie until the tributes start muttering to each other, and the stylists, prep teams, mentors, and escorts rush in to meet the tributes. Cinna and Portia reach District 7's carriage first, closely followed by Raven's prep team. They immediately help us down, exclaiming over our outfits, the reactions of the Capitol, and so on. Tigris and Clio congratulate us on a job well done, and Tigris's tail twitches slightly - she doesn't appear to have much control over its movement. Garnish, beaming at Raven and I, leads us all away from the carriage and into a large glass elevator. The team from District 4 wordlessly join us, and I study the mentors despite myself. There are as many as seventeen victors accompanying this year's tributes, and I recognize only a few - Finnick Odair, Mags, Sea Shine, and last year's victor, Annie Cresta. The victors exchange small talk with Blight, but avoid looking at me or Raven. The rest of their team speaks to their counterparts from District 7 eagerly, boasting about their own district's costumes loudly.
The girl, Syren Seeh, smirks at me, nudging her partner. "Look at the scrawny things that District 7 has to offer this year," she snorts, pointing to me and Raven. Tide snorts a laugh in reply.
My fingers curl into a fist that I hide behind my back as the glass doors slide closed and the elevator shoots upwards in a blur of color. My eyes, however, are focused on Syren's face. I know, inside of me somewhere, that what she said is wrong - I am as fit as her, and much more weathered. However, Raven, staring fixedly at the floor beside me, is not, and I am angry for his sake. However, before I can decide how to react, the elevator has slowed to a halt at floor 4, and the cool voice announces, "District 4." The District 4 team empties out. Syren shoots me a smirk before exiting, flanked by Finnick Odair and Sea Shine. Tide bumps roughly into Raven's shoulder, knocking him against the glass before exiting last of his party.
I swallow deeply, clenching my fists as Floor Four speeds away and the voice announces, "District 7," as the elevator eases to a halt. Garnish leads the way into the apartment, trilling, "Time for the tour, Raven, Fawn!" Raven, rubbing his shoulder, follows her out and, fists still clenched as I remember Syren's smirk, I follow him. "This," Garnish waves her hand at the extravagant, lime green and lavender room decorated with chairs and a table. "is where we will dine. And over here," she leads us into a room similarly decorated with a curved couch and a window overlooking the city, which is rather beautiful from this height. People on the streets below are almost bugs on the sidewalks. "This is where we will watch all of the recapping."
Raven gives her an odd look. "What television?" It takes me a moment to realize that there is no screen in sight - I am still too angry with Syren and Tide for anything else to make sense to me.
Garnish laughs her high-pitched laugh and waves her hand aimlessly. There must have been a pattern of some sort to it, though, because the television switches to a picture of my own face. Flinching, I let out a squeak of surprise. "Oooh, sorry, dearie," Garnish chuckles, attempting to make her laughter drown out the words of the announcer. Before she waves it off, though, I hear, "the odds are favoring Fawn Dogwood, District 7's female tribute, less so than they did last year's Willow Hardwood..." As the window returns to the spectacular view, I try to ignore the trembling in my stomach. Last year, Willow Hardwood was from a scouting town like me, and was eighteen years old. She died in the Bloodbath, trying to get an axe.
Blight clears his throat and motions to two doors nearby. "Those are your rooms. Raven's is the close, and Fawn's the farthest." I barely glance at the room, unable to think about what he was saying.
"Do you want to watch the recapping of the Opening Ceremonies?" Garnish asks Raven and I eagerly. I glance at Raven, and we shake our heads in unison. "I need some time to .. think," I tell her honestly, feeling as though a million tons of lumber have been dropped onto my shoulders. Raven mumbles something similar to this.
Garnish looks displeased, but Blight gives us a half-smile. "You can go to your rooms for the night," he says kindly, "Garnish shall wake you for training in the morning. We can talk then." Ducking my head in agreement, I walk towards my room with Raven as the rest of the team walks to the dining-room, where the smell of food is nearly tempting enough to change my mind.
When the door slides closed, I turn immediately to Raven, clenching my fists again. "Now, that," I spit. "made me angry."
Looking alarmed at my sudden anger, Raven reaches out his hand, seeming unwilling to make physical contact. "Whoa, Fawn. Really, it's fine. It didn't really hurt, anyway. And it's not like they can do anything, not really ... not yet."
"That's just the thing," I give him a dark look. "Not yet."
~~BTCS~~
I stare at the window that I know is a television. "Um, turn on the television, please." The window changes to a television screen, with Lavinia on screen again, this time with the man who interviewed me back in District 7, Giovanni, whom Cinna swore that she is sweet upon. "Looking back on the past Games is an exciting part of the pre-Games," Giovanni is saying to the cameras. "Here's the final moments of last year's Games."
The screen changes to a canyon-like landscape, mostly flooded with water. A girl with long, tangled dark hair hides behind a large boulder, while a boy with sandy blonde hair slouches beside the campfire, holding a wickedly curved blade. The girl glances around the rock, spotting the boy, and draws back, taking a deep breath. She pulls out a small dagger - her last weapon, Giovanni reminds us, and strokes it gently. The girl, Annie Cresta, has already lost much of her sense from when her partner was beheaded, with her cornered and forced to watch. Her sudden stroke of madness saved her life, giving her the fuel to shove her sword into the boy from District 1's stomach.
She closes her eyes, obviously reliving the moment, and when her dark eyes open, a trace of sense has been lost from them. I remember shuddering last year when I watched this, and covering Creta's eyes. Without warning or preparation, she leaps out from behind the rock silently and hurdles the dagger towards the boy with the sandy blonde hair. He moves at the last moment, hearing its whizz, and instead of hitting his heart, it misses by several inches to the right. Annie Cresta scrambles back behind the rock, scared of his blade now, unaware that she had hit him in her wild state.
After a few moments, she realizes that the boy is of no harm to her, and crawls out from behind the rock. The boy is now curled on the ground, coughing up blood and cringing. No scream falls from his lips, and a grimace covers his face. Annie puts her hand against her mouth. "Marbel," she gasps, remembering him now from the Career alliance, long since broken up. "Marbel!" she crouches down and shakes off her orange jacket, to press it on the wound that she had willingly inflicted only moments before. "Oh, Marbel, Marbel!"
The boy stares up at Annie for a moment, his mouth a perfect 'o.' Then he grunts out, "Cresta... what in the name of Panem are you ..."
"Don't talk!" Annie is seized by a tremor of panic. "No, don't! I'm so sorry, Marbel! I ... I cut you. Just like he did ..." Her eyes loose themselves in madness again, and she lets out a high, pure scream, falling to the ground and rocking about. "I should've stopped him," she sobs. "I should've ... I should've killed him!"
Marbel sizes up in a tremor again, and coughs up another bit of blood. Before he can finish his cough, however, his eyes glaze over, and his body looses all resistance and falls to the ground. Annie, sensing that he is done moving, leans over to stroke his blood-stained face. "I'm sorry," she whispers.
The picture cuts back to Giovanni and Lavinia, the latter looking breathless from the scene. "Oh, I do so love that!" she gasps, trilling on to compare Annie to Syren. I tune this out, loathe to be reminded of the District 4 tributes, and try to remember what life was like only a year ago, knowing that I was safe for another year, and watching children die on the screen; being thankful I wasn't among them. This year I am. This year, other children I don't know will watch me and be thankful that I was reaped instead of them.
Shuddering, I turn my attention back to the television where fourteen-year-old Finnick Odair is being charged by a girl with bright red hair - District 5's female tribute had made it into the bottom three that year. The girl, Spark, as Lavinia informs me, is armed with a crossbow, now emptied, and a spear with two heads. Thinking back, I remember Spark's weapon now. She had made it herself, and called it Embers. She now charges with Embers held tightly in her hands, towards Finnick, holding a golden trident.
It is obvious from the start that Finnick is far more talented than Spark in combats. However, he toys with her for several long minutes before pinning her to the ground, and throwing Embers aside. She snarls at him, trying to bite his fingers (Giovanni calls her an Enobaria), but Finnick evades her. Normally, this is the part of the fight where any Career would torture their victim to prolong the show. However, Finnick has already proved himself extraordinary by breaking from the Career alliance and killing all but one of his would-be-allies, the exception being his district partner. And again, he does something out of the ordinary. He slits Spark's throat and stands off, dusting his hands.
Lavinia and Giovanni's faces again fill the screen, and Lavinia teases her boyfriend about how cute Finnick was, even at only fourteen years old. Giovanni plays the part perfectly, appearing jealous and amused at the same time. I stare at them, wondering if River and I would have ever been like that. Would we have joked like that, knowing that our futures were set in stone, and forever we would be safe and fed? I'll try. I really will. If I won, things could still end up that way.
"Back to the program!" Giovanni wildly changes the subject. "Next up is Blight Lumber - victor of the 60th Hunger Games!" My shock is closely followed by guilt, and it crosses my mind that I should turn off the program - this is private footage to Blight, and no one else, even if the Capitol has decided to broadcast it. But the scene has already popped up, and I'm staring at a desert.
Caught by curiosity, I stare at the landscape. It's mounds of said are constantly blowing about, and small prickly plants are everywhere. I spot snakes and scorpions hiding in the sand, ready to leap out at any tribute who was unlucky enough to pass. And there is not a body of water in sight. Blight, his dark skin stark against the landscape, is only about seventeen, and is sitting down, staring at the sky, obviously in deep thought. Behind him is a muscular boy, bearing traits that come from District 1. A Career.
The boy from District 1 is holding a sword identical to the one sitting beside Blight. Of course, swords are the most popular weapon in the Games. I suppose it's not odd that Blight would gravitate towards it. However, Giovanni goes on and on, commentating about how meaningful the twin swords are. Apparently, the term 'twin swords' has become a synonym to 'Blight Lumber.' Taking a deep breath, District 1 lets out a low whistle.
I am surprised by how quickly Blight is on his feet with his sword at the ready, pointing towards the boy from District 1. "Crimson," he states. "you have found me."
Crimson is tense, with his sword at the ready, a mirror image of Blight. His voice, however, is completely calm as he comments, "You hid well." He pauses. "How have you survived this long?" he appears truly surprised and pained, which Lavinia explains by stating that they used to be allies, before Crimson left Blight for the Career pack.
"I have a few tricks that I was careful not to show you." Blight's eyes show pain at the memory, but he hurries on. "I'm not surprised that you survived so long. You always were the victor, Crimson." The boy from District 1 only stares at Blight in shock. After a long pause, Blight rearranges his hands upon the hilt. "Your name is intriguing to me, Crimson."
The boy blinks. "You've told me."
Ignoring this, Blight continues, "Though you abandoned me, I've seen nothing but crimson in this place."
"I didn't abandon you!" Crimson appears angered. "I just ..." he stops, unable to continue. Blight, however, appears ready to wait for him to speak. Taking a deep breath from between his teeth, Crimson states, "I didn't want it to be us in the bottom two."
Blight chuckles darkly. "So much for that."
Agitated, Crimson hisses, "Let's - let's just do this." He grips his sword tighter, allowing Blight time to do so as well, and lunges toward his former ally with surprising, expertise skill. Blight meets him with identical skill, striking the twin swords together. They begin to spar with expertise skill, and both of their faces broke into feverishly excited looks as they moved ever faster, trying to find a break in each other's defenses. I stand, staring at the screen. Will I be engaged in such competitive combat at some point in the Games? Will I be this close to death?
In the end, Crimson breaks Blight first, slashing open his shoulder. While Blight cringes, and lets a hand fly to his bleeding shoulder, Crimson pushes him to the ground. When Blight tries to struggle, Crimson strikes his forehead mercilessly, and, blood flowing into his eyes, Blight goes slack. "Please," he whispers, tears in his voice. "Just ... make it quick. For an old friend."
Crimson blinks, and realization floods his eyes. Ever so slowly, he lowers his blade, and backs away. "Blight ... I ..."
But he never finishes his sentence, because Blight thrusts the blade that Crimson didn't take from him into his former ally's stomach. Crimson's face lights up with surprise as he abruptly falls to the ground. The screen cuts to Blight's face as he kneels beside the fallen District 1 tribute. Crimson chokes out, "You won - that's the first ... time."
Blight's face is solemn. "Sorry," a pained expression crosses his face. "but there's only one ... victor."
Crimson smiles. "Congratulations, Blight. The odds really were in your favor." His face slackens into a cringe as he lets out a weak cough. Almost immediately after the cough subsides, fair features slacken, and Crimson leaves his body forever.
I stare blankly at the television screen for several long minutes before he clears his throat. Years of scouting allows me to spin around in a millisecond. Blight stands before me, his arms folded and gaze determined, though I can sense sadness behind his gaze. The fact that I didn't hear him enter scares me - I need my senses where I am going. Blight sharply motions at the window, and Giovanni and Lavinia's faces melt into the blackness again. I stare at Blight's dark face as though seeing him for the first time. He stares back at me. After a long pause, he speaks.
"Being a tribute it a nightmare, but being a victor is a nightmare you can't escape from. More often than not, I wish that I would've let Crimson kill me. I wish that I would've let him live this nightmare life instead of me." I can't breathe, staring at Blight in anticipation of his words. "Nightmares plague me every night. I haven't slept well in years." His expression is helpless as he stares at his hands. "I'm a murderer. I have to live knowing that I - I killed children." He stares at me hopelessly, and I stare back. "And each year," his voice is hoarse, "two more children come, and when they die, I know that it is my fault."
I choke out the words, "Blight, I ... I'm sorry. I should've turned it off..."
But Blight waves off my apology. "No, this way is better. Now you know - now you at least have warning of what it's like ..." he meets my eyes again, but this time (for the first time) I feel like he is seeing me. "You scout?" Memories of the Crecent Moon Troop come to me, and, throat dry, I only nod. "You're used to having allies, then."
"Raven and I spoke with Maze and October from District 11," I confess. "and they were nice enough. But ... " I motion to what is again a window, showing a busy, lavender-plasted street. After seeing the footage showing that Blight and his ally were in the bottom two, and Annie's district partner loosing his head, I am far more reluctant to make allies with even Raven.
Blight sighs. "You're used to having someone to help you; to watch your back - actually a whole troop of people. You aren't used to fighting on your own, and you won't survive very long without them."
"I won't be able to trust them like I do my troop!" I protest. "They will want me to ... to die!"
"Not by their own hand," Blight protests. In my mind, I see Crimson backing away from defeated Blight. "and they'll want you to win if they don't."
I take a deep breath, staring at the blue and silver patterned floor. "I don't see how it will matter," I tell him. "I won't win anyway." Syren's sneering face, and Tide pushing Raven come to mind.
Blight takes a step towards me, his face conflicted. "Don't - don't count yourself out. Winning may be hard, but you can't stop fighting. You have two sisters at home, right? How do you want them to see you on the televisions in the square?" He pauses, as though considering his words. "How would you feel if you saw Raven's face in the sky?" I know immediately - guilty. I would immediately take the blame, because I wasn't there to save him.
I swallow hard. "All right - I see your point. But I still don't like it."
He pats my arm. "I know." A pause during which I stare at the floor some more. "What do you think of Tigris?"
I glance up at him, surprised. "She is ... a very interesting person. Emerald told me about her daughter - Moira."
At the mention of Moira's name, Blight's face draws into creases, just like everyone else on the team's has. "Yes, Moira's death was tragic, indeed. It really showed Tigris just how -" Blight cuts himself off, looking startled, as though he nearly told a secret. "Well, tomorrow begins training. We can talk more about your strategies for the day tomorrow, but I do want you to establish a sense of trust with Raven, October, and Maze. You're right - you won't trust them like your troop at first. You need to learn how."
I nod, silently and reluctantly agreeing, and still wondering what Blight was about to say before he cut himself off. "Good sleep," Blight wishes me, as is custom in District 7, especially towards mothers and their children. Hearing the words bring me a great sense of homesickness, but I don't let on as I tell him, "Good sleep." and he leaves without another word.
~~~BTCS~~~
I don't know if any of you remember what Katniss said about Annie's Games, but it was surprisingly detailed for Katniss :p Something about her going mad after her partner was beheaded, a dam breaking, and her surviving to the bottom two because of her swimming abilities. Don't get me wrong, I love Katniss, but she really can be so ... blunt. Anyway, that's my version of Annie's story... any thoughts?
Please PM or Review! People will be more likely to read this fic if it has a ton of reviews and followers! Plus, it really makes my day!